Destruction Trilogy: Broken
by Winchester Mythology
Summary: Post Season 11. Dean gets back to the bunker to find a pool of blood and no Sam. Thus he begins the biggest hunt of his life. But as time moves on, Dean becomes more and more desperate. Sloppy. Will the hunter become the hunted? And what really happened to Sam? My take on the start of S12! Major S11 spoilers (obviously!)
1. Prologue

**Hey guys! So the end of Season 11 got my blood pumping but unfortunately I haven't had the time to start writing until now! I also started writing this before SD ComicCon so any spoilers that may crossover are unintentional (I'm trying to stay away from said spoilers!). This is my take on the start of Season 12, so there are obviously tons of spoilers for Season 11 right from the get go.**

 **Enjoy!**

oOo

Burning.

Singeing, gnawing, jabbing: the burning blossomed from his aching lungs, spreading its tendrils through his veins. He couldn't keep this up. Couldn't suck in the air he needed fast enough. Blood roared. Fear chilled, wrapping his gut in a cloying decay of ice that mixed with the fire, creating a new kind of agony.

But still his legs kept pumping, driving him further. His heart smashed against his aching ribs. It was worse than it had felt when he'd been electrocuted all those years ago.

If he could last just a little longer.

Darkness shrouded the area with only dim slivers of moonlight flooding between the breaks in the canopy of leaves above. A thin branch whipped and sliced into his cheek, precise as a papercut and just as deep. He ignored the warm sensation of blood pooling instantly in the area, dribbling down his smooth cheek.

A loud crack – like gunfire – sounded behind him. The primitive part of his brain registered that that was exactly what it was; the sound of the Hunter becoming the prey. Panic tried to pool in his gut, clawing through the numbing ice. He wanted to stop – oh God he couldn't explain how much he wanted to stop – to hide. To make himself small and invisible. To be the child that hid under the bedcovers so that the monsters wouldn't get him. But he had never been that child. And he couldn't hide – not yet.

Another crack.

He stumbled blindly over a fallen branch, landing clumsily on his hands and knees on the soft, mulchy earth. Mud oozed between his fingers as he hauled his trembling body upright, cold seeping through wet patches on the knees of his jeans.

Nearly there.

He could make it; he had to. Another echoing crack launched him forward, renewing his energy. He pushed back the burning, the aching, the bubbling panic. He pushed through the edge of the treeline, into the clearing.

And stopped.

oOo

His lungs burned with a fire unlike anything he'd felt before. It spread through each capillary, licking flames across each one as his chest shuddered, bucking and heaving frantically, trying to draw in the oxygen that his body was being starved of. His back pressed into the cold metal beneath him, patches not yet warmed by the heat of his skin.

Maybe he would die this time.

A choked moan escaped unbidden from his throat. Icy water rushed down either side of his face, trickling through the fine dark hair that shadowed his cheeks. His limbs jerked involuntarily, wrists chafing against the cuffs that bit into the soft flesh.

But only one thing topped the fire and suffocating water.

It flared hotter, spread further, engulfing him. Even the trials hadn't scorched like this; he could still feel them licking fire through his veins whenever he thought about them.

Yet the burning in his lungs didn't consume him.

The weight lifted from his face, brushing cold air across his exposed, sodden skin. His lungs tried to draw in a breath but choked on the water clogging his throat. He threw it up in great mouthfuls, coughing and spluttering, turning his face to the side as he brought it all up before greedily replacing it with much needed oxygen.

But still the ache was there.

It was deeper than physical pain, more profound than anything he'd ever endured. It was a part of him; it will never leave. Never end. Even if he ceased to exist, he was sure the ache would still spread.

A face loomed over him. Familiar. Loathed.

"So what's it going to be?"

oOo

 **Please review!**


	2. Weight of the World

**Thank you to those who have followed/favourited already! This was written partly in Canada, partly on a plane at 2am but hopefully it's not too disjointed! Enjoy :)**

oOo

 _"My mind's a river running through a storm" – Hangman, Black Stone Cherry_

oOo

"Dammit!" The spoon clattered noisily against the work surface, echoing in the silent kitchen. Dean picked the offending spoon up and hurled it forcefully across the room, green eyes flashing. He clenched the metal work surface with both hands, squeezing until the muscles in his forearms were taut, sinews stretching beneath his tanned skin. His head dropped between his hunched shoulders as he wrestled within himself. Tried to be calm. Like that was going to happen.

Sammy was missing.

He had been for 83 days, 9 hours and 16 minutes. And Dean still had no idea where he was. The ache of despair, the panic, the loneliness had all melded together to become a permanent fixture bubbling just below the surface of his skin. It was crippling him, blocking his senses and yet he couldn't shift, couldn't ignore them.

A sigh escaped him in a great whoosh as the tension left his body and his shoulders sagged. The older Winchester lifted his head and gazed around the empty room. The kitchen had always been fairly sterile, lacking a certain amount of personality. Yet now it felt like it had when the boys first discovered the bunker. Everything sat in its rightful place: plates, mugs and crockery all sat on shelves, developing a thin layer of dust. Since Dean had come back 83 days ago, he'd barely been in the bunker long enough to eat let alone use any of it. Sinking down onto the hard bench around the table, Dean's mind whispered back to that night, looking for anything he'd missed.

oOo

"Mom?"

She was just as he'd pictured her. Soft blonde hair fell in gentle waves, fanning out across her shoulders and down her back. The smooth strands framed her face which was the same gentle brown of summers spent in the garden, working, playing with her sons. Her brows were furrowed in confusion as though she couldn't understand where she was. Her gaze flickered everywhere but at him until finally their gazes met. A few stumbled moments passed as she struggled to place his face within the setting. When she did, her eyes smiled up at him, smokey grey filled with joy.

"Dean." Her voice ran through the air between them, smooth as honey. Dean felt his heart swell, happiness unlike anything he'd felt in a long time pouring through him. He closed the gap between them in two long strides, gathering his tall, strong mother into his arms. Hers slid around his back, gripping him just as tightly. He nuzzled her neck, breathing in the long absent, yet unforgettable, scent of her. Mary Winchester smelled like home: real home. Not the bunker, not the house in Lawrence but of joy and laughter and security.

Mary felt the muscles in her eldest son's back loosen as if she had lifted a great weight that was hanging over him. He had grown tall, her boy. Pride filled her; she was amazed at how her sons continued to outdo themselves. She may not have wanted the hunter's life for them, but it had been the making of them. They had excelled beyond her own capabilities - and John's.

Now stood, wrapped in his embrace, wrapping him in hers, she exuded that pride. Dean could feel it washing off of her in waves. Finally, he pulled away, reluctantly, and smiled down at her, still grasping her arm. Mary raised a hand and cupped his cheek.

"My precious boy. My Dean. I've waited for this for so long," she murmured, voice soft yet strong.

"But what is this?" Dean replied, a twinge in his gut telling him that there was always a price. The Winchesters never got anything for free. Did it make a difference that the gift came from Chuck and Amara? Probably not.

"It's what you wanted, honey."

"Are you...?"

"Alive? I'm sorry Dean but no. You know how much people coming back upsets the balance. Even God doesn't really like upsetting it," Mary explained with a sad, apologetic smile.

There was the catch.

Not wholly what he'd wanted. But enough.

"I wish you were still here, Mom. I wish nothing had ever happened to you. We tried to stop it. We tried so damned hard" Dean's words choked from his throat, his hands trembling ever so slightly against his mother's arms.

"I know you did. That's the good thing about being up there," Mary's eyes turned skywards, "I get to see it all - past and present. I know you came to me, tried to stop the angels, tried to warn me about Azazel but there are just some things you can't change."

"I miss you" Dean's confession was whispered, childlike. The ache was a throb that hummed within his chest: constant, everlasting. Mary wiped the tear that had fallen onto his cheek with her thumb.

"I know you do, baby. I miss you too. Cheesy as it may be, I've always watched over you. I've seen how you look after Sammy, how you protect everyone and ask for nothing. I couldn't ask for more from you. Once upon a time, I would've wanted you to stop hunting, to give it all up for the 'apple pie life' as you and Sam call it. Now I don't. I want you to do what you want to do and what you do best. You need to know that I have- and always will - support every decision you make. You're a good man, honey. Never forget that."

"I love you, Mom" he whispered, bowing his head when she reached up to kiss his forehead as she had done when he was little. Her forehead rested against his.

"I love you too. Now go; be the man I know you are."

The warmth on his cheeks from her hands and forehead slowly vanished, replaced by a chill from the night air. When Dean opened his eyes, Mary Winchester was gone. It felt as though a burden that he'd been carrying for years had finally dissipated. He stared up into the clear night sky, up at the stars above and smiled. Amara had known exactly what he wanted the most.

In his jeans pocket, he felt the familiar hum of his phone. Pulling it from his pocket, he looked down expecting to see Sam's name appear. Cas' number blared up at him. Pressing accept and lifting it to his ear, he heard nothing but shaky panting.

"Cas?"

oOo

Dean could still hear the panic in Cas' voice. Something had gone wrong and he hadn't been there.

Sam had needed him.

The excitement at being able to tell Sam about his encounter with their mother was short-lived. He'd arrived back at the bunker, alone, to find two sets of blood splatter staining the floor; one on the step that led to the main library and the other just past the stairs that led to the entrance.

The blood on the step was minimal; a few errant drops that had dripped onto the floor before the angel ward was activated. The wall of the library still housed the faint red of the mystery woman's bloody sigil which had dispelled Cas. Dean had scrubbed for hours but he couldn't seem to quite make the stain shift.

The second blood stain was the one that had terrified Dean, stopping him in his tracks, making his breath hitch and blood chill. By the time he'd got to the bunker, it had coagulated into a sticky pool that trailed up the stairs. According to Cas, who had made his way back eventually, the blood pool was consistent with where he'd last seen Sam. For Dean this meant one thing: his brother had been wounded and dragged from his home. He refused to believe that Sam was dead; he would know. You don't kill someone and then take their body and unless he saw his brother's body, Dean would never believe it. Even then, he would never accept it.

But who had the balls to do that?

Apart from anything, the bunker was sealed to anyone outside of the Men of Letters. It was a fortress – seemingly impossible to break into. Dean could only assume that Amara's presence had upset the bunker's usually flawless security system.

The only thing Cas had been able to tell him was that the intruder was female and had had an upper class English accent; the kind that people assumed all British citizens spoke with. The angel hadn't even been able to catch a glimpse of her before she'd expelled him from the vicinity.

The angel had been as relentless as Dean in his pursuit of Sam; his guilt – over Lucifer, over not sensing the woman – had spurred him to act almost without pause. Yet there in lay the problem.

"Dean?" Castiel's deep bass echoed through the bunker, drifting into the kitchen moments before he entered. Dean looked up at him. Cas noted his worn look: the deep purple that bruised beneath eyes that had turned a deep forest green with exhaustion. A light dusting of blonde stubble graced his cheeks, surrounding a turned down mouth that spoke volumes without saying a word. His blue chequered shirt was creased and faintly blood splattered. The angel wondered vaguely whose it was. Dean's pursuit had been unforgiving. "When did you get back?"

Dean's shouldered heaved in a shrug. "'Bout twenty minutes ago. What did you find?"

"The angels have still heard nothing. They're going to keep looking, but as I said before: it's difficult when you both still have the warding that hides you. Angels aren't used to using conventional methods of tracking. I'm sorry."

"How can he have been gone for this long without _anyone_ knowing anything? And how can we not know anything either? I thought we were supposed to have all the answers here" Dean growled, waving his hand at the rest of the bunker. "Biggest supernatural resource, my ass." He had torn through every book he could think of that could be relevant and still came back with nothing.

"I still think it all boils down to the same question-"

"Cas, we've been through this and _I don't know._ "

"I understand your frustration, Dean, but I think it would be wise for us to pursue that line of enquiry more. Nothing else we've tried has worked so far."

Dean blow out an irritated sigh that came out more like a snarl, his hand running back through his hair.

"Fine. So why would someone want Sam?"

oOo

 **Not the longest of chapters, but you know me – it'll start kicking off soon! As I said before, I'm not trying to replicate anything the cast or writers have revealed; rather, I'm trying to lead this where I thought it could go. Hence Mary's short appearance!**

 **Let me know your thoughts!**


	3. Feelin' Fuzzy

**So it must be time for us to see what our Sammy's been up to. It does get a little intense, so please be warned!**

oOo

 _"A walking shell of what I used to be" – Rescue Me, Black Stone Cherry_

oOo

Everything was too bright. Not just the kind of brightness where arms are forced up to shield sensitive eyes, where you're forced to squint until it eases. No, this was the kind of brightness that tore apart your eyelids when you closed your eyes, revealing all the tiny red veins that hid in the delicate skin. Eyes watered when they were opened and even pressing the palms of his hands into his eye sockets didn't seem to work. Not that they let him do that for long.

The red brick walls were saturated in the glow; not even the cracks contained shadows. Every minute detail was revealed from the mottled green lines of damp that had seeped through the walls over time like a rivulets of decay, right down to the stark white scratches on the walls that someone had made next to the bed in an attempt to keep a sense of time. That wasn't Sam though. He'd tried in the early days but soon had no semblance of time at all. With no watch, no daylight and broken sleep patterns, he had no idea how long he'd been stuck there. It could have been days. Weeks.

Years?

Definitely more than days. He knew that. Sort of. What had once been rough stubble had turned to fine hair on his cheeks, a soft brown that matched his hair, rising up hollowed cheeks and hiding a solemn mouth. He pushed back the locks that fell into his eyes with both hands; it'd been years since his hair had been this long. It tickled the back of his neck and irritated his eyes constantly.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. Sam had moved past exhaustion, overtiredness, the 'hungover' stage. He had felt all of this before – of course he had: when the hallucination of Lucifer had been wreaking havoc with his mind. He was getting close to the final stages of his enforced insomnia; he could feel it.

It wouldn't be long now.

His fingers moved down to his leg; the other reminder of how long he'd been here. He rubbed the impression in his thigh, the scar beneath his trousers a dent around the size of a large coin. Leaning his head back wearily, he closed his eyes against the harsh light, remembering that day.

oOo

"You and I both know you're not gonna pull the trigger" Sam's voice was hard and confident even though his heart hammered in his chest. He didn't know whether he heard or felt the gun first. The bunker echoed with the sharp crack as Sam hit the floor, hands clutching his left thigh, blood pouring through his fingers. A gasped howl escaped his lips in both surprise and agony. She had actually done it!

"Bitch!" Sam hissed at her as she descended the stairs and stood over him, gun still raised, his face contorted in pain.

"That's your first lesson, Sam. Don't try my patience" she replied simply. She lashed out with her foot, kicking his straight in the temple. Sam crumpled on the floor, hands loosening from around his thigh.

"I told you he wouldn't cooperate. The Winchesters are stubborn; all the research points that way." Toni looked over her shoulder as a second man appeared from behind the wall, his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a suit without the jacket, white collar unbuttoned revealing a softly tanned throat. He was powerfully built, muscles stretching taut beneath the sleeves of his shirt. Wispy black hair had been cut short, styled simply and with minimal effort. Toni gave him a tight smile and shrugged.

"I like to give people a chance." They both looked down at Sam's unconscious form, their gazes dispassionate and calculating. "James, find something to stop the bleeding. We'll fix his leg later; I don't want him bleeding out."

The man nodded, grabbing the duffel bag he had stashed around the corner. Yanking it open, he pulled out everything he needed.

Sam's head throbbed as consciousness crept slowly back up on him. He groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly before easing them open. A jolt made him wince, pain shooting through his temple and leg simultaneously, jogging his memory.

Cas. The woman. Getting shot.

He looked around, realising that light was running like Morse code above him through blackened windows. His head was jammed against one surface, his knees lodged against another with his legs bent uncomfortably behind him. He tried to stretch out his legs but they locked, his arms pulling at the same time. Giving them an experimental tug, Sam realised that he was bound; his wrists to his ankles in an excruciating hogtie. Further discomfort came when the tight sensation around his face finally registered alongside the acrid taste of the cloth inside his mouth.

Great. Bound, gagged and in the trunk of some crazy woman's SUV.

The streetlights outside were flashing more frequently past the windows as the car slowed, clearly approaching somewhere. But where? Where would they take him? The Winchester couldn't grasp it. They were Men of Letters. Weren't they supposed to be allies?

The vehicle slowed to almost a complete standstill and murmured voices could be heard. Sam tried to lift himself up high enough to see out of the window but he couldn't twist enough to do it. It started moving again, making him lose his balance. His could feel his heart thumping in his chest. It'd be okay. Dean would find him.

Then it hit.

The air evaporated from within his chest as though he'd been winded. Involuntary tears stung his eyes as he grappled with a pain so intense that he forgot about his leg and head.

Dean was dead.

He wouldn't save him; he didn't know Sam was gone. And just like that, Sam's body slumped. What did it matter where they took him? His brother was dead and he was never going to come back. Billie would make sure of that.

He barely noticed when the SUV stopped and car doors thumped closed. The tailgate lifted up and he found himself glaring balefully up at a stern-faced dark haired man who looked down at him with something close to contempt. The woman – Toni – appeared at his side.

"We need to do this quickly" She prompted, moving out of Sam's line of vision. The man stepped forwards, yanking Sam around by his knees. Sam grunted and struggled, unable to lash out with his long limbs. He felt the connection between his wrists and ankles disappear, taking the opportunity to kick out but his violence was expected. Grabbing Sam's injured leg, James stuck his thumb into the bullet wound beneath the temporary tourniquet he'd tied around it to stop the bleeding. A muffled howl of agony ripped from Sam's throat as he saw stars explode across his vision. James used his momentary distraction to haul the Winchester from the car, setting him down on his feet before crouching and throwing him over his shoulder.

Sam moaned and wriggled, utterly humiliated as he was carried away from the car. He lifted his head trying to get a sense of where he was. The car was parked on a flat piece of tarmac, only a few buildings illuminated by the giant flood lights that cast light across the flat expanse of tarmac and neatly trimmed grassy patches. Glinting in the darkness, high wire fences extended around the whole area. Sam twisted as far as he could, trying to see where he was being taken. When he saw, his breath hitched and heart raced. He struggled violently, trying desperately to do...anything.

James ignored him, heading for the aeroplane.

Toni appeared in the doorway of the aircraft, watching as James approached, Sam on one shoulder, bag in the opposite hand. He ran up the stairs with ease, ducking through the door. Inside, the plane was simply yet elegantly furnished with cherry wood panelling and plush cream leather seats. The air crew paid absolutely no attention to the actions of the pair, averting their eyes and carrying on with their duties.

James flipped Sam off of his shoulder and dropped him into one of the seats. Sam glared venomously up at him through bangs that had fallen over his forehead, chest heaving heavily as he shifted his arms. James grabbed a strap from one of the overhead bins, walking around the back of Sam's seat. He looped the strap around Sam's waist, buckling and cinching it behind the back of the chair, out of reach of the hunter. Circling back around, James bent down with a second strap, reaching for Sam's tied ankles. He yelped in surprise when the Winchester kicked out, catching James under the jaw, knocking him to the floor, stunning him. Toni leapt forward, slapping Sam viciously across his face. She brought her face up close to his, her eyes hard and flat.

"Do that again and you'll really pay for it" she hissed, venom in her tone. Behind her, James rose, cupping his jaw and glaring down at the Winchester. He bent down again, grabbing Sam's ankles in an iron grip before he had a chance to lash out again, securing them to a metal loop in the floor.

"Ma'am? Are you ready?" a smartly dressed man asked, appearing from the cockpit. Toni nodded as the stewardess pulled the door closed.

Sam was trapped.

Half an hour later, they were in the air and at a height where they could safely move around. Sam watched them silently, trying to figure them out. He had tested his restraints and found them unrelenting. Clearly these Men of Letters knew what they were doing and weren't going to give him an inch.

He watched as they both approached him again, a green medical box in James' bear paw of a hand. He opened it, revealing its contents to Toni who pulled out surgical pliers, the kind that looked like scissors on one end and were hooked like tweezers at the other. Sam shifted uneasily. James stood on the strap anchoring Sam's legs to the floor, removing all the slack. Toni knelt beside the chair and unwrapped the bloodied bandage from around his thigh, revealing a deep hole that welled with blood.

"Hold him still" she instructed. James leaned down on his knee as Sam looked wildly from one to the other. They couldn't be serious! The pliers hovered over his leg as his protests were muffled by the gag in his mouth. They turned to howls when Toni stuck the pliers into his wound, searching for the bullet. He writhed and bucked, the pain excruciating. His eyes closed and his mind flashback to his brother being forced to do the same to him not that long ago. Back then he'd listened to the murmured apologies and soothing words of comfort Dean had given, trying to ease his suffering.

There was none of that now.

Sweat broke out and pooled on his forehead as Toni worked on him, paying no attention to his stifled whimpers and cries. She worked methodically, extracting the bullet and sewing the wound shut. It took no more than ten minutes, yet felt like hours to Sam. She turned away, grabbing a syringe and turning back to him. She smiled mirthlessly up at him.

"Maybe that will teach you to behave" she remarked coldly as she stuck the needle into his neck. Sam groaned as his vision floated and finally the world disappeared.

oOo

That had been the last thing he remembered before he'd woken up in his cell. Since then his world had consisted of the same four walls, isolation, pain and misery. He had retreated into himself, both cursing and finding himself grateful to Lucifer which sounded ludicrous even in his own head. Lucifer had spent years inflicting every torture he could think of on Sam in the cage. Toni and James had yet to do anything to him that hadn't been done to him before. He was able to endure it. Yet he despised that he could. He didn't want this. He just wanted to be let go. Without Dean, there was nothing for him. Didn't they understand that?

A sudden burst of freezing water hit him like a tidal wave, smashing into his side with the force of a sledgehammer. He yelped and scrambled across the bed, huddling up against the wall, trying to escape the water's path. He curled into a ball, shielding his head in his hands, body taking the full pelt of the flow. It stung, bruisingly, making him cry out. He hated that he was so weak.

Finally, it stopped.

"Who said you could sleep, Sam?" Toni's voice was cold and clipped as if she were scolding a child.

"I wasn't- I didn't-" Sam stammered, shrinking further into himself, unwilling to look at her. He knew better.

The water lashed against him again, ripping a yell from him.

"Don't lie to me. You'll sleep when I say you can" she spat, turning the hose off again. "I'd better not catch you doing it again. Our next session is in a few hours. It's your choice today: fire or water? When I come back, I expect you to have an answer. Am I clear?"

"Yes" Sam whispered, broken. The door slammed, leaving him alone on the soaked cot, eyes wide and unseeing, body trembling as the chilling water seeped down through his thin shirt and into his skin.

Why wouldn't she just let him die?

oOo

 **Please review!**


	4. In My Blood

**Thank you all so much for the reviews and reads! I really hope you are enjoying this. I'm going travelling for a while but intend to write as I do so. Updates may be a little patchy but I will try my hardest to keep them regular!**

 **Enjoy!**

oOo

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

"Maybe it's a cult."

"A cult of what? People who love tall men and long hair?"

"I can't say I've ever heard of a cult like that, but it could theoretically exist" Cas replied, his expression completely serious.

"I'm not adding that to the board, Cas!" Dean grumbled, throwing the pen on the table and flopping into one of the hard wooden chairs. Lists had always been more of Sam's thing, but it had seemed like a good idea this time around. Actually that wasn't true. Sam would've already made some sort of high-tech algorithm on his laptop that would decipher every plausible reason for his disappearance. All whilst making a super smoothie and doing a 10km run.

Probably.

Dean scanned over the paper – his mind map and doodles providing his version of said algorithm. And what had he and the angel come up with?

Nothing.

Most people went after the brothers to use them as each other's weak spots, but with Sam assuming that Dean was dead, that wouldn't work.

They had made a list of Sam's enemies, ex-girlfriends and acquaintances who didn't quite make the 'enemy' category but weren't really that friendly either. Most of the major ones were dead or gone.

Except…

Dean's brow furrowed as he sat bolt upright. Cas' gazed settled on him. "Have the angels heard _anything_ about Lucifer?" he whispered, a newfound panic clawing at his gut. Cas shook his head.

"They're still looking but so far he seems to have gone incognito. If he has found vessels to possess, he's being incredibly inconspicuous."

"Yeah but with the angel warding, couldn't he have grabbed Sam and you guys wouldn't have known anythin'?" Dean pressed, a lump forming in his throat. The more he thought about the idea of Lucifer taking Sam, the more plausible it became.

"Think about it, Dean; if Lucifer had somehow managed to get to Sam, don't you think we'd know by now?"

"Only if Sam had said yes. For all we know, the son of a bitch has been doin' god knows what to Sam to get him to let him in!" Dean's tone rose higher, the panic beginning to bubble up, uncontained, from within the depths of his eyes. Cas leaned forward, his frown thoughtful.

"Remember the last time Lucifer tried to get him to agree? Sam wouldn't say yes; he knew the implications for mankind and the consequences for himself and he _still said no_. He's strong, Dean; stronger than I think any of us have ever given him credit for. You need to hold onto that. Let's hypothetically that you're right; that Lucifer was the one who took Sam. We need to look at it from every angle.

"First off, look at the time frame," Cas continued, his hands clasped as he leaned forward on his knees, "Lucifer was expelled from me two days before you went to kill Amara. He would've been weakened – who knows how much – if he even survived. We don't know that for certain. For him to have found someone to possess, get here, orchestrate taking Sam and find somewhere to keep him for all this time…Lucifer is cunning but I don't know if he could have done all that when he was that weak."

Dean sat back, chewing his lip, fingers drumming on the polished wood of the chair. Cas' even tone, mixed with logical reasoning soothed some of the panic that was roiling around in his stomach. Green eyes flickered over to the blood stain on the wall.

"He wouldn't have been able to be here when that angel sigil was activated" Dean murmured, pushing himself up out of the seat. He walked over to the faded stain, running his fingers over the rough plaster thoughtfully. "He had to have someone – someone human – workin' with him."

"That would make sense."

Cas watched Dean carefully as the Winchester stood there, his fingers still on the wall, but his eyes now bright and calculating. The angel waited, aware that Dean was clearly onto something. He sat in silence, waiting. Finally, Dean's gaze flickered over to him.

"Cas, do you think you could extract the blood that's left on here?"

The angel got out of his seat and went to inspect the stain. He peered at it closely, noting its molecular structure compared to the plaster of the wall.

"It shouldn't be a problem. Why do you want it?"

"If we're gonna track down who has Sam, we need to know who they are. That's gonna help us start" Dean replied, pointing to the stain on the wall.

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Jody swallowed a mouthful of her coffee, grimacing when she realised it was cold. That was the second mug she'd let go cold today – and it was only midday. She pushed the mug away, resisting the urge to spit the cold liquid back into it. Was there anything more boring that paperwork? Her glance continually slid away from her computer screen to her phone, hoping that it was going to light up with…something. ANYTHING. Honestly, she'd settle for Claire getting in trouble at school at this rate. A part of the sheriff felt guilty for feeling that way: being quiet was a good thing – no one committing crimes, her girls doing well, no one meeting an untimely death with something vengeful or evil.

She rubbed her thigh with one hand, wincing briefly. She had been out of the cast for a while now, but the freshly healed break still gave her jip if she stayed in one position for too long. Stretching out her leg, Jody hit save on the file she was working on. Leaning down, she ran her hand around in her desk drawer, fishing around for the chocolate bar she'd stashed there in case of boredom emergencies.

A hard rap at the door had her jerking her head up like a guilty child caught in the act of doing something she shouldn't. Her shock spread into a wide grin when she saw the man stood in her doorway.

"Dean!" she exclaimed, pushing her chair back so that she could get up and around her desk. She crossed the space between them quickly, throwing her arms around the hunter. He smiled softly and returned her embrace, leaning down to wrap his arms around her slight frame. She squeezed him tight, the same as she always did – ever the mother hen. It didn't matter that he wasn't that much younger than her. It was just the way Jody was. "Long time no see, stranger" she grinned when she finally let him go. She observed him closely: noted the creases in his fed threads – like he hadn't used them in a long time – inspected the tired lines on his face and five o'clock shadow that was almost in danger of becoming an actual beard. Looking over his shoulder, she frowned. "Where's Sam?"

Dean nudged her elbow, guiding her back further into her office as he closed the door quietly behind him.

"There are some things I need to tell you" the hunter replied, his voice calm but flat. Jody nodded but crossed her arms and looked up at him, her gaze full of concern.

The more Dean spoke, the deeper the frown Jody wore grew. She listened in silence, only butting in when she needed clarification. When Dean had finished, she leaned back in her chair and blew out a breath. The frown stayed.

"Why didn't you come and tell me this before, Dean? I could've helped! Hell, looking for missing people is part of my job" she barked, her tone hurt.

"I'm sorry. I honestly thought that I'd find him in a few days. Then time just kept draggin' on and one thing led to another. But I need your help now" Dean replied, his tone even and his gaze steady. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small plastic tube filled with a small quantity of red liquid. He passed it over the desk to Jody who took it, giving it a small shake.

"Whose is it?"

"Cas managed to extract it from the wall in the bunker. It's got to be the woman's – the one who took Sam. I figured that if she were in the database, you'd be able to track her. I know it's a long shot, but it's the only one I got right now."

Jody nodded and stood up.

"I'll go see if one of the tech guys has a spare minute. They owe me a favour anyway." She patted Dean's shoulder as she walked past him, her limp barely noticeable. Yet Dean saw it. Saw it and knew he'd made the right decision before; Jody was fiercely protective and would've come in a heartbeat if he'd called. Which was exactly why he didn't. She'd been put in enough danger the last time they'd been on a hunt together. He couldn't keep risking doing that to her.

He wouldn't.

oOo

Dean had left a few hours before, getting a head start on the long drive back to Lebanon from Sioux Falls. He'd tried to insist on waiting but, as Jody pointed out, forensics wasn't a quick department even when they owed you one.

A young man wearing a white lab coat poked his head through Jody's office door.

"Sheriff? I need you to come look at this" he stated, not bothering with hello. She followed him quickly, winding through the police department and down the numerous corridors to their forensic department. It was by no means large but it sufficed. The walls were lined with glass-faced cupboards containing hundreds of bottles, vials and samples; the work surfaces covered with machinery and reports. Yet, to the trained eye, it was clearly organised. The technician led her to his computer, tilting the screen so she could see what he was doing.

"So I ran the blood as you said, but it was contaminated with some kind of cleaning product which diluted what was left. I managed to get a clean enough sample to run it. But that's where it gets weird" he explained, his hands gesticulating throughout.

"Weird how?"

He pressed a few keys on his screen and let the dialogue box pop up. Jody's eyebrows raised in surprise as she leaned in, getting a closer look. "What the hell?!"

oOo

 **London, England**

Toni sat, her legs crossed, reclining on one of the soft cream leather sofas that dominated the living room. She had her iPad balanced on her lap, browser open at the recent news, a cup of tea warming her other hand, small plumes of steam rising from the cup.

"Milady?" a voice interrupted her reading. Annoyance flashed through her mind but her smile was perfectly amiable when she looked up.

"Yes, Anna? What is it?"

"I'm sorry to trouble you, but this just came in. I thought you should see it immediately" the lady explained, stepping forward and presenting her with a sheet of paper. Toni put her tablet to one side and took it. She scanned over the automated email, her eyes widening. "It would seem someone has tried to identify you, milady."

"Where is this from?" she hissed.

"Sioux Falls sheriff department in South Dakota."

"Did it work?"

"No, milady. But this is rather troublesome."

Toni put her cup down and stood up, email crinkling in her balled fist, the only sign of her outrage.

"Let me look through my files. We need to find out who is searching for me."

oOo

 **US-81, Columbus, Kansas**

"What do you mean you don't know who it is?" Dean growled, his knuckles white around his phone. He kept his eyes centred on the road but his jaw clenched tightly, the muscles working beneath his skin.

"Scott ran the blood and put it through the system. But every time he does, the whole system goes down and we get this weird error code." Jody's voice was tinny across the line, but Dean could tell she was frustrated.

"You sure it's not your computer just havin' a hissy fit?"

"That's the first thing we thought so Scott put another blood sample through the system and it was fine. We tried yours again and we just got the system failure and error again."

"Somethin' in the blood maybe?"

"Nope. Definitely 100% human. Only thing I can think is that it belongs to someone big enough that they can mess with our database. I'm sorry, Dean, that's all I got."

"It's ok. Thanks, Jody. I'll keep you posted." Dean's sigh was heavy, dragging his shoulders down as he signed off the call and threw his phone onto the empty seat next to him. His heart squeezed painfully when he glanced that way, wishing it was his brother sat there.

He was back to square one. Again.

oOo

 **Please review! I will update as often as I can :)**


	5. You're Not My Saviour

**Sorry for the long wait – surviving on portable batteries hasn't left me a lot of charge to write with!**

oOo

Toni's 'office' was still littered with her findings on the Winchesters. Mug shots, CCTV images and maps with routes highlighted or pinned overlapped each other on the wall over the small desk. It was, for all intents and purposes, the 'Winchester Room'. Her desk contained files and folders full of information on the brothers: everything from their family history – Winchesters and Campbells – to dossiers on every case Toni could scavenge intel on. She knew everything from when Dean had collected Sam from Stanford to their first Wendigo case; Sam's odd and short-lived marriage to Dean's slaughter of the Stynes.

Toni had been working on the boys for years. No one could compete with the Men of Letters when it came to observation.

Now she stood, flicking through what appeared to be an address book. It was – of sorts.

"I knew it" she hissed, slamming the book closed. Making her way back up the stairs, she clicked off the light, finding James loitering outside of the door. He could have followed her down but he knew better.

"Well?"

"Sam does have another connection on file – other than Bobby Singer – in Sioux Falls: Jody Mills" she explained.

"And you think she might be the one looking for you?"

"I don't know; I don't like speculating. But it seems highly plausible – she's the sheriff so she has the resources. I want you to go there immediately. Find out who got my blood and where from. Then find out why" she instructed, her tone clipped.

"Why don't you ask Sam about her? He might know something" James asked. Toni gave him a slow, tight smile.

"And give him hope that someone's looking for him? Not a chance."

oOo

"Not real. Not real not real not real. Not. Real." The chant was endless, his words tripping over his tongue like an torrent battering quietly around the room. Sam had been left on the table he currently occupied hours ago. He had stayed motionless, leaving the straps around his arms and legs alone. He didn't fight anymore. He didn't see the point.

Staying awake had been the hardest part even with the blaring white lights glaring down on the hunter. Sitting up, he could fight the drooping of his eyelids, sleeps soft murmurings. Lying down made his exhausted body think it was alright – that he could sleep. But he knew she'd be watching and God help him if he fell asleep. So Sam did the only thing he could to stay awake.

He imagined his brother.

"Not real not real not real."

They had talked, talked for hours about everything, about nothing. They'd talked until tears rolled down the sides of Sam's face and then dried into small rivulets. The imaginary Dean had made him smile, had given him refuge.

But he wasn't there and Sam had to tell himself that constantly. If he didn't...well it'd be another thing Toni would use against him. She had taken everything else. What was worse – it would become a reason to hang on.

It was interesting though. He wondered what would actually happen if he died. Billie had threatened them with The Empty. But surely if both brothers ended up there, it wouldn't be empty anymore? And Billie wouldn't let them be happy. Would he end up back in hell? He doubted he'd end up in heaven; the brothers had aggravated far too many angels.

The door behind his head slid open and he squeezed his eyes shut. He knew she'd be back.

Moving around into his line of vision, Toni raised an eyebrow expectantly.

Sam licked his lips with a dry tongue. Sliding his gaze away from her, he stared at the ceiling.

"Fire" he breathed.

oOo

Toni could almost hear her colleagues disapproving, chiding voices now _. You should have been more careful. We are not here to clean up your mess. If you are exposed, we will not be associated with you._

 _We do not make mistakes._

She hovered the blade over Sam's stomach, watching but not really seeing the soft hairs wither beneath the heat. Letting it drop, she pressed it against his tanned skin, a flicker of satisfaction crossing her face when a whimper finally escaped her ward. They'd been at this game for a little over an hour and it was the first sound he'd made. Lifting the cooling metal up again revealed a blistering raw arrow shape that sat between four similar burns.

Sam's body was littered with scars, some she'd made, some she hadn't. The hunter had seen and battled a lot. His skin was a veritable map of marks that told of a life far from peaceful. He had lost a lot of the muscle tone he'd had when they first took him; a minimal diet and lack of exercise would do that. Some days his ribs were visible, pressing just below the surface of his skin.

Toni moved the blade back to the small stove she had placed next to the gurney Sam lay on.

Sam watched her, quelling the urge to jerk and writhe with agony. His body trembled, betraying him. It wasn't fear; the sadistic Woman of Letters didn't scare him but his exhaustion, the excruciating burns and his own inner torment continued to berate his body.

He could see the simmering anger hiding in the clench of her jaw, the tightness around her eyes. Something had happened; he didn't know what but she clearly hadn't anticipated it. She had taken his 'decision' and made it her own. When he had first arrived, he'd been defiant, stubborn, refusing to play her twisted games. He didn't have it in him to be that anymore.

"What will it be today, Sam?" Her voice was honey-smooth, almost maternal. Until she pressed the blade against his abdomen, harder this time. Sam bit back the screech that clawed up his throat.

Every time Toni would ask him. For 84 days she had asked. He couldn't suppress the shudder this time, his body's attempts to escape the pain. She simply pressed harder when his muscles pulled down.

She was convinced this time; he couldn't last much longer. The hunter hadn't slept in eight days. Couple that with a few hours of torment and he would give her what she wanted. Her eyes narrowed, almost triumphantly, when Sam turned dark grey eyes to look at her directly.

 _"It's okay, Sammy. I got you." Dean's voice echoed in his head, pulling Sam away from her._

A bubble of rage filled her when the tiniest of smiles, more of a bearing of teeth, etched onto his face. His voice was barely above a whisper, but held a strength she couldn't comprehend.

"Fuck. You."

oOo

 **Not the longest of updates, but these kinds of chapters are quite emotionally draining! Please review!**


	6. Conspiracy

**Thank you so much for all the positivity and love so far! I have sucked at updating and I apologise but I'm now back home and near my computer whenever I like!**

oOo

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

Dean lay on his mattress, letting the soft cushioning ease the tension from his back, rolling it out of his muscles one by one. His broad shoulders finally lowered themselves, allowing the long muscles in his neck to loosen. The whole process had been a conscious effort, a forced relaxation by the Winchester to try and sleep.

So far he'd been 'relaxing' for three hours.

Maybe one day he would invest in a relaxation motor system for his bed.

 _Dude, I'm not funding your sick habit._

Dean gasped involuntarily, eyes snapping open when the memory hit him hard. Sam's disapproving look, the war between the mild revulsion in the set of his eyebrows and the faint amusement in his eyes, was clear in Dean's mind. He could picture that same look now, ten years later. His baby brother was older, but he didn't change.

With a growl, the hunter sat up and glanced at his bedside clock. 4.24am. He wasn't going to sleep so there wasn't any point in trying; he might as well get started. Throwing back the covers, he got up.

His bare feet padded softly against the stone floor of the bunker as he entered the library. He flipped up the laptop lid, powering it up as he moved to the drinks tray. Pouring himself a whiskey into a large tumbler, he cupped his fingers around the top, taking it back to the table.

 _It's 6pm somewhere, Sammy._

Technically, he had had many drinking sessions that had lasted until a lot later than 4.30am so he didn't see a problem with it.

Sipping his first mouthful, Dean welcome the warmth that fired down his throat. He opened up his browser and flicked to the tabs he'd bookmarked the day before.

 **GOVERNMENT CONSPIRACY THEORIES.**

The hunter was annoyed at himself for being on these sites; they were stupid. Yet, he had given Jody the blood of someone who had managed to total her lab's entire network. If that didn't smack of conspiracy, Dean didn't know what did. Opening the first page, he settled back and started to read.

oOo

 **Sioux Falls Regional Airport, South Dakota**

James strode out of the airport, a large leather bag clutched in one hand as he put his sunglasses on against the bright South Dakota sun. He scanned the line of taxis, chauffeurs and private cars until he spotted the one without a name placard held up. The driver stood in a sleek black suit, arms behind his back, a step away from the Chevrolet Sonic unlike the other drivers who leaned nonchalantly against their vehicles.

James approached him and nodded curtly.

"You keys. The car is full, sir, and the items you requested have been placed in the back" the man explained, passing James the small key fob before nodding and walking away. James opened the rear passenger door, placing his bag on the seat, before moving around to the driver's side. He was in and gone within moments, just another driver leaving the airport.

oOo

 **Kansas City, Kansas**

This was stupid, even for Dean. The little voice at the back of his mind insisted on repeating this over and over – a repetitive, irritating mantra. It was fine. It would be fine; he'd done this hundreds of times before. He took another look at himself in the rear view mirror of the Impala. He smoothed a wayward tuft that had escaped the gel he'd slicked his hair with and readjusted the red and white striped tie that he had thrown on. Breathing out a shakier breath than he would've liked, the hunter flipped open his FBI badge one last time, looking for any imperfections, any faults that could be detected in the new badge. Agent Peak stared up at him solemnly. Snapping it closed and grabbing the folder Jody had given him, Dean grasped the handle of the Impala and got out.

And stared up at the field office for the FBI in Kansas City **.**

This was a really, really stupid idea.

It would be just like every other police station he and Sam had worked their way into. Dean had to keep telling himself that. This was in no way more high-risk, more exposed than anything they'd ever done. And he – definitely – wouldn't end up in some nameless jail, rotting away, useless forever.

Definitely.

Straightening the lapels of his grey suit, Dean climbed up the steps of the large glass fronted building, exuding a confidence that did filter all the way through him. Yet, as with many cases, the hunter was skilled at putting on a front; it was survival, pure and simple. So when he approached the receptionist, who clocked him the moment he entered, through the rotating doors, and sat just that tiny bit straighter, he flashed her his most winning smile.

"Welcome to the FBI field office, Agent...?" she smiled, flashing a set of perfectly white teeth. Dean pulled his badge from his inner pocket, presenting it to her with his smile fixed, eyes glued to hers, holding her attention captive.

"Peak. From Washington," he explained smoothly, glad when she barely registered his badge with more than a quick glance. Her hand moved to her hair, unconsciously fiddling with it. Dean glanced at her name badge. "I'm so sorry, Natalie, to just drop by but the case I'm working needs a more...technical eye than mine. I called my office but they said to come to you."

"A more technical eye?"

Dean nodded gravely, leaning in just enough for her to catch a waft of the cologne he'd consciously worn.

"My talents lay more in the...physical specialisms." She was absolutely hooked. Dean finished her with a slow half smile. "My partner normally deals with the technical parts but he's busy with another line of inquiry and this can't wait. It's of the utmost importance."

The poor woman had to resist the urge to fan herself. Her hands fluttered as she went to her phone.

"I'll- I'll just see if Nathan Dabb – our technical support manager – is free. I'm sure he could spare a few minutes for you" she breathed, her cheeks flushing prettily when Dean smiled his thanks. Her words were quick and tumbled out when she explained who Dean was. She put the phone down and pointed to her right. "If you go through there, I'll buzz you in. Take the elevator to the third floor and Nathan will collect you, Agent."

"Thank you, Natalie; you've been so helpful" he replied, slipping a card discreetly over the counter with a handwritten number on it. He winked at her as she took it before walking in the direction she'd given. It was almost a shame that he'd had to give her the wrong number; he'd quite liked her. Listening for the tell-tale screech, Dean pulled open the door and walked through.

He was in.

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

James sat a few hundred yards down from the police department, engine switched off, eyes glued to the doors. A map sat on the passenger seat beside him: a perfect decoy if anyone wondered why he was there. Locals were only too happy to help if they thought you were lost. His eyes remained set on the doors of the building across from him, waiting. While Toni may have both the knowledge and the cold separation that made her a force to be reckoned with within the Men of Letters, James was content being the recon expert. That didn't make him like the hunters though; he was far above the likes of _them._ Snivelling savages. It was a shame Sam had been brought up that way; he clearly had potential – even James could see that – but his hunter instincts were so ingrained.

What a waste.

James' background suited his role perfectly; the Men of Letters had placed him within the police and then intelligence, letting him satisfy his more…brutal instincts. After all, their organisation thrived on knowledge and even they understood that some knowledge requires less finesse in its collection.

Movement at the doors snapped his attention back from his reverie. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard, 6.07pm. Two officers left first, holding the doors open as a small group of relatively young people dressed in jeans and loose t-shirts left together. His eyes scanned for the one he wanted. Sure enough, a lanky, blonde haired man was laughing at something a colleague said as he separated from the group, waving goodbye and heading for a battered blue Ford. Double checking the picture in the file on the seat, James was sure. He switched his engine on and followed as the boy pulled away.

oOo

 **Kansas City, Kansas**

"Which office called this in?" Nathan asked, his eyes not leaving his screen.

"It happened in Sioux Falls Police Department. We were running the blood work and the whole thing crashed. You can call Sheriff Mills if you want; she's the one who called me in" Dean explained. He knew Jody wouldn't be too happy about him dropping her name to the FBI but he also knew that she'd do whatever it took to help him find Sam. The technician shrugged, the movement so slight it was barely noticeable. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, eyes scanning the codes that ran across his screen. Dean didn't understand any of it but he didn't really need to; he just wanted answers.

"Okay…well whoever set this program is good. Like damned good. This isn't a quick fix; I'm gonna need a while with it. It's not something I've ever seen before. So you said it happened the minute you tried to run the blood through the system?" Dean nodded. Nathan let out a huff. "Give me a few hours, man. I'll see what I can do."

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

The house was dark, all the lights switched off in the front. The small garden was trimmed but not loved; its owner having neither the time or inclination to do anything other than mow the grass to keep the neighbours happy. It was barely past 9pm yet most of the houses along the street were silent, faint glows in the windows of a few. A lone Chevrolet Sonic sat on the streets, a few houses down from the trimmed garden. Around the back, a single light glowed behind the blind that was pulled down, shutting out the world.

James stood, looking down at the man in front of him, idly flicking his knife under his thumbnail, scraping out the dirt that had collected there. He said nothing. He didn't need to – not yet. Scott stared up at him, a thin line of blood that had dribbled and dried flaking on the side of his face. His whole body was awash with sweat, dampening his shirt and glistening in his hairline. He was still trembling; he hadn't stopped since James had secured him, hands behind his back, on the chair. And left him. James had barely said anything to him, instead making this a more…theatrical show. Most people didn't need to be tortured for information – the threat of pain was enough. Add in a bit of prolonged tension and your source would tell you anything you wanted. James had pegged Scott as that type the moment he saw him; he was a lab tech not a cop. He wanted to help people but didn't have the backbone to get physical. To James, he was weak.

Putting the knife down on the table next to Scott, James pulled up an identical chair and sat directly in front of the technician. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, eyes focused on Scott's.

"Scott, all I want from you is the truth. That's not so hard is it?" he asked, his voice low, calm. Scott shook his head. "Good. If you cooperate then you won't force me to be unpleasant. I don't want to be unpleasant, Scott, so it's your choice here. Where did you get that blood sample from?"

"Which one?" Scott squeaked, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn't being contrite; there was too much fear in his eyes.

"I apologise; that wasn't very specific of me. Where did you get the blood that much your system crash?"

"The Sheriff – Sheriff Mills – gave it to me."

James nodded. "Good. Thank you for being honest. Where did she get it?"

"Some FBI guy she works with sometimes. He came in to see her. She asked me to run it straight away."

"What's this agent's name?"

"I-I don't know," Scott swallowed, his eyes widening when James said nothing, just stared at him. Scott would've been less afraid if he had shouted – reacted – in some way. But he didn't. He sat there, his face blank, waiting like a parent who expects their child to confess. Scott started to babble, his words tripping over themselves. "I swear I don't know. He's been in a few times but I've never caught his name – I've never really had anything to do with him. Usually he has a partner but I didn't see him. I don't even know which office he works for."

James simply continued to scrutinise him. He's done this enough times to know when people were lying or were genuine – reading people was his forte.

"Ok, Scott," he cut in, leaning back in his chair, "I believe you. You've seen this agent though, yes?"

"Yeah, a few times."

"Maybe you could describe him for me."

Scott nodded, almost too eagerly, licking the sweat off of his top lip. "Tall guy, maybe 6'1" or 6'2? Pretty well built – broad shoulders, bow legged like those southern guys who ride horses a lot. Wears a cheap suit, short blondish hair."

"Eyes?" James prompted as he noted down what was said on his phone.

"Like, a really bright green. The girls in the office love it when he comes in." James clicked off the note and gave Scott a brief smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You've done really well, Scott, well done. Just give me a moment." He rose out of his seat and stepped around Scott, walking into the small living room, turning to keep an eye on his captive but moving far enough away that he wouldn't overhear. Bringing up his contact list, he dialled.

oOo

 **I-70, Kansas**

The burner phone shrilled loudly in Dean's pocket, vibrating against his chest in his suit jacket. Taking one hand from the wheel, he fished the phone out, glancing down at the number before pressing accept and lifting it to his ear.

"Peake."

"Agent, it's Nathan Dabb. I don't what kind of investigation you're running but it's damned weird."

"How so?" Dean frowned, keeping his eyes glued on the narrow pools of light the Impala shed in the darkness.

"I've never seen anything like this. The computer virus is somehow linked to the blood sample you gave Sioux Falls; if I was nuts, I'd say it was like magic. Something like that isn't possible."

"What d'you mean?" Dean's gut started to pull, that familiar niggling feeling he got when he was close to something.

"It's somehow linked to a computer system, sending a signal for the virus to infect the system that's trying to identify the blood work. But that's not possible; you can't link something technological to a tiny blood sample and expect it to kill a network. It's definitely nothing me or any of my guys have ever seen. I don't know how it works."

"So I haven't stumbled onto one of our confidential cases?" Dean asked, holding his breath.

"No. I put in a call with the guys at CIA too and they confirmed they don't have anything like it. The only thing I can tell you is that the virus wasn't sent from somewhere in America."

"Where did it come from?"

"England. Sorry, Agent; that's all I can give you. I'll keep working on it but I'm not hopeful."

"Thanks" Dean hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket. His frown deepened. "England?! What the hell?"

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

James finished explaining everything Scott had told him, keeping his eyes trained on the technician. He sat with his head bowed slightly, defeated. The other end of the line was silent for a moment.

"Green eyes?" Toni repeated, her voice tinny across the connection.

"That's what he said." Again, silence. James couldn't practically hear her thinking.

"Ask him what the partner looked like." James strode back into the kitchen, standing over Scott, his phone clutched in his hand by his side rather than his ear.

"This partner you saw with the agent before – was it always the same one?" he asked.

"Yeah – a guy."

"What did he look like?"

"Real tall – he made the other agent look small. Same kinda suit as the other one, pretty well built. Long hair – he's the only FBI guy I've ever seen with long hair. I thought they all had to have it cut short." James' heart thumped in his chest but his face remained impassive.

"What colour?"

"Brown. He always had this habit of tucking it behind his ears."

"Thank you, Scott; you've been very helpful" James replied before moving back into the living room, bringing the phone up to his ear. "Did you hear that? It sounded like he described Sam Winchester."

Across the miles, Toni's voice hardened. "He did. Get rid of him."

"Do you know who this agent is?" James asked as he moved back into the kitchen. Balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear, he grabbed Scott's chin from behind, tilting his head and slicing across his throat with his knife before Scott even had a chance to react. He moved away, leaving the technician bleeding out.

"I do," Toni seethed. "Dean Winchester."

 **oOo**

 **Please review! I promise the next update will be a lot sooner!**


	7. Senseless

**You are overwhelming me guys: thank you so much for reading, following, favouriting and reviewing! You make this so much more enjoyable!**

 _"I've lost who I am" – Shattered, Trading Yesterday_

oOo

It wasn't possible. There was no way that Dean Winchester was alive; Sam had convinced her he was dead. Not through what he said but with his whole demeanour. The hunter was entirely broken – hollow – without his brother. That hadn't changed from the moment she'd met him, seeing the raw agony in eyes that had glistened with forced back tears, his whole expression a mask that was struggling to stay in place. He hadn't wanted to share his pain with her but she had seen through it. He wasn't faking that.

So if Dean Winchester was alive, what the hell had happened?

Toni's grip on her phone tightened, knuckles whitening. She pinched the bridge of her nose and exhaled in a whoosh.

"I want you to find out everything you can, James. I mean _everything_. I need to go to the council with this; we don't know for certain that it definitely is him and I want proof. _They_ will want proof. Find it for me."

She ended the call and placed her phone carefully on the table in front of her. Her fists clenched, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. She had come this far and for what? To let that… _savage_ ruin everything they were working towards?

No. She wasn't going to have it. If Dean had risen from the dead, the council would know what to do. And Toni would only be too happy to do their bidding.

oOo

His eyes eased open, something having prodded him awake on a subconscious level; he wasn't sure what. Blinking against the darkness, he drew in the arm that was extended beneath his pillow and rolled over, fingers groping for his phone. Pressing the centre button at the bottom, the blue glow lit up his room as he peered into the light. 3.16am. Sighing, Sam rolled over, staring up into the darkness of the ceiling, fumbling for the light switch on his left. The light pooled in his room, bringing to life the rich texture of the brick wall over his head, the shelf littered with books, boxes and various case notes. Sam lay there, trying to settle the unease he felt. It refused to go, clinging to his chest and twisting in his gut. Getting up, he fished the handgun out from underneath his pillow and crept over to the door. Twisting the doorknob, he opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. Still he heard nothing. Everything was silent.

Too silent.

"Dean?" he called, but couldn't hear himself. He felt his heart thumping in his chest, could hear that pounding in his ears. The Winchester started walking down the corridor, gun held in both hands, raised in front of him. His walk became a run as the panic began to build. Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

Running down the corridor, Sam barely noticed that he couldn't hear the slap of his feet against the stone floor. Almost skidding to a stop outside of Dean's room, he called again.

Still nothing.

He pounded soundlessly on the door, stopping and staring at his own hand in confusion, his eyebrows furrowing together. Twisting the handle, he found it locked. Stepping back, Sam raised a foot and smashed it into the door. Again and again and again. Finally, it gave way, dark wood slamming soundlessly back against the wall.

Sam stepped in, chest heaving. The gun dropped to the floor as he ran forward, landing on his knees by the bed, his brother's name a sob caught in his throat. Dean lay on the bed, staring lifelessly up at the ceiling, blood covering his face, drenching his shirt. He was covered in wounds – hundreds, thousands – of them littering his skin. Sam grasped at his hand, cradling the bloodied digits in his own. Dean's head moved to the side, eyes locking on Sam's. The words came out soundlessly, but Sam read them. Read them and wailed.

"You did this to me."

Sam woke with a gasp, properly this time. His eyes flew open but he saw nothing; everything was black. He waited for his eyes to adjust, for shapes to appear in the darkness but they didn't. The thumping of his heart, which had started to slow, began to pick up again. He should be able to see something – _anything._ He pulled at his arms and was met with the familiar resistance of cuffs holding him down. Sam could feel it now; the soft pressure of something cloaking his eyes and cupping his ears. That was why he couldn't hear anything but his own heartbeat. Squirming on the bed, he tried twisting his head to dislodge either implement. He flinched when he felt someone touch his head, fingers twisting in his hair, pulling sharply, ripping a gasp from his throat that he didn't hear. He felt something slip across his forehead and tighten, the hand disappearing from his hair. When he tried to move his head again, he couldn't. Panic started to worm through his veins; Sam had never been claustrophobic but this was different. Unable to see, hear or move. Jerking his arms, his legs, made no difference; he wasn't going anywhere.

A crackling noise sounded through the instruments covering his ears. It sounded almost like a gramophone's needle being placed on a record. Sam almost moaned with relief until a voice began whispering through the scratching. He frowned, unable to make it out. He needn't have worried; it continued to get louder until it was crystal clear and repeated, slowly, calmly, over and over.

"You did this. It's all your fault."

oOo

Toni stood on the other side of the glass wall, crossing her arms as she stood and watched. She had finally let him sleep; she didn't want him dead. He'd been dreaming – about what she didn't know, didn't care – until he'd started calling for his brother, shouting his name in a frenzy of sobs. There was no way he was lying about Dean being dead; she was sure he was convinced that the older Winchester was gone.

She stared impassively at her handiwork for a moment. Sam lay on the bed, leather cuffs tightened and padlocked around each limb, a matching strap crossing across his forehead. His eyes were obscured by black ski goggles with opaque lenses, large headphones covering the sides of his head. Sam's hands were clenched into fists, the muscles in his forearms tense, tendons standing out beneath his skin as he writhed.

The Woman of Letters stood perfectly still for a few minutes more, simply watching. Satisfaction filled her. Setting the playlist on repeat, Toni left the room, the sound of Sam's first scream echoing behind her as she shut the door quietly.

oOo

 **Men of Letters Headquarters, Westminster, London**

It was a simply decorated boardroom that held all the character expected of an organisation like the Men of Letters. The walls were clad with chestnut, polished to a high sheen that reflected the soft glow of the lights that shone from gold sconces around the room. A large television dominated one wall but the table was the grandest furnishing; it took up almost the entire room. Made from solid cocobolo, it radiated a high gloss sheen with a reddish tint, perfuming the whole room with a faint spiced scent that Toni always found oddly comforting. Twelve matching chairs, seven of which were currently occupied, surrounded the table. She stood at one end, facing the Men of Letters. Three sat on either side with their leader sat at the head of the table.

Jonathan Markham was an imposing man in his late fifties. Broad shouldered with close cut silvery hair and piercing blue eyes, a neatly trimmed beard covering the lower half of his face, he filled the room with an air of authority that was palpable. He sat, hands clasped loosely together, resting on the table in front of him. The rest of the board sat facing her, their faces impassive and serious, listening to her explanation of James' preliminary findings.

"I cannot categorically say that it _is_ Dean Winchester. At the moment, the evidence James has gathered certainly suggests that it is" she concluded.

"And you are sure that Sam absolutely believes that Dean is dead? That he hasn't been lying to us?" Jonathan queried, his thick silver eyebrows bunched together. Toni gave one curt nod.

"I am positive, sir. Sam has shown no behaviour to suggest that he believes his brother to be alive. His grief has been…prolonged." There was a slight ripple of murmuring from the board members. Toni leaned forward, placing her fingertips on the smooth wood. "How would you like James to proceed?"

"First, I want absolute proof that it is Dean Winchester. I want photos, better yet, videos. James is not to engage with him under any circumstances until we have determined his identity," Jonathan instructed, his voice silencing the men around him. "When we are reviewing his findings, James is to continue surveillance until we have decided on further action. I do not want this man to know we are looking into him."

"Of course, sir. James will use the upmost discretion" Toni confirmed.

"What about Sam Winchester?" one of the men sitting to Jonathan's left asked. The head of the Men of Letter's gaze slid over to him.

"What about him?"

"Would it be worth using him in the identification process?" he asked. Again, the board members bubbled with quiet murmurings. Jonathan sat back, rubbing his stubble with one hand.

"With all due respect, sir, I believe that would have a negative impact on Sam. I have spent years studying the Winchesters and there is one thing I am certain of – if Sam discovers his brother is alive, all our efforts will be in vain. We'll be back to square one because he will do what he has always done; anything to get back to his brother" Toni explained, her voice even. Jonathan nodded slowly.

"That has been the case in past experience. For the moment, I don't want him knowing that his brother is potentially alive. To be honest, Toni, I would have expected a change after his reconditioning though. You have been working with him for over three months."

"Indeed. Your reports of his progress have been slow and, to be honest, quite vague. We had expected more from you," one of the men remarked. Toni felt the bite in his comment but kept her anger in check. Her demeanour remained unchanged, but inwardly she seethed. They thought she was failing.

"Sam has been more…difficult than expected. I apologise; I will improve my efforts" she promised, fighting to keep her tone civil.

"Good. It is as we discussed in the first place; Sam Winchester has the potential to be one of our most valuable members but he is also far too dangerous. If you cannot recondition him, we will have no choice but to eliminate him."

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

The door of the 1964 Rolls Royce slammed shut, rocking the whole car as Toni stalked into the house, her tan heels clicking sharply on the stone porch. Anna opened the door and she nodded a curt thanks, passing her bag and coat to her maid as she entered.

"Would you like some tea, milady?" Anna asked, hanging the coat up.

"No – thank you, Anna. I have work to do. I'd like dinner ready around-" Toni checked her watch: 2.04pm, "- seven."

"Of course" Anna replied, retreating back towards the kitchen as Toni made her way to the back of the house. She went to the wall opposite a window overlooking the garden, pressing in the insignia in the same manner as the mechanism for her office. The door slide smoothly to the side as she moved around it, descending the stairs. It closed behind her, blocking the outside world as she opened the second door along the corridor. Punching a code into the keypad by the final door, she entered Sam's cell.

The sight that greeted her wasn't enough to quell her foul mood. He gave no reaction to her entrance – he had no idea that she'd even left hours ago. A thin sheen of sweat coated Sam's skin, his white shirt soaked as a soft whimper slipped unbidden from his lips. His breathing was shallow, limbs twitching every now and then as if he had been fighting for hours and was finally spent. He probably had.

Grabbing an electrical unit that sat against one wall, Toni wheeled it closer, picking up a long metal rod tat sat across the top of it. Switching on the machine, she looked at the rod, waiting for it to power up. It was his fault they saw her as a failure.

It was time to up her game.

oOo

 **So Markham was the last known head of the MoL in 1956 and I figured that they'd be the type of institution that would have relatives in different chapters, thus the Markham here can be some distant cousin!**

 **I feel bad for what I'm doing to Sam – I do love him, honestly! They say you hurt the ones your love the most (perhaps they don't mean it in this context, but meh).**

 **Please review!**


	8. Imposter

**Your feedback has been invaluable! Thank you all! I'm sorry that many of you were sad/upset by what happened to Sam in the last chapter; I'm there with you! It does tell me that I'm doing this well – if I wasn't, I wouldn't get a reaction. I'm so sorry for taking forever to update; life has gotten in the way and I don't like writing when I know I can't give it my full attention.**

 **Happy reading!**

oOo

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

Castiel sat at the table in the library, his concentration absorbed in the tome on the desk in front of him. His right hand gripped the frail pages delicately as he studied the page before turning it over slowly, his gaze unbroken. Dean had left Kansas City a while ago, heading back to the bunker. Their brief conversation had answered few questions and raised a handful more. Castiel hadn't had much dealings with the English, but his knowledge of their portrayal in films told him three things: they apparently all seemed to speak with ridiculously posh accents, there was a clear obsession with tea going on and they were always the villain. Now, the angel wasn't gullible; he knew that most of this was severe stereotyping (except perhaps the tea) but it did seem unusual that someone from an entirely different continent was involved. Especially one that Dean claimed to have no real connection to.

Odd didn't quite cover it.

There wasn't a lot Cas could do until Dean returned so he did what he'd come to find useful: scouring the resources at the bunker in the hope that he would find something that would help. It didn't seem to be working today though. His guilt appeared to be more profound of late; he didn't know why. Dean had tried to absolve him of his feelings, telling the angel that there was nothing he could've done. The bunker was supposed to be impenetrable so why would they expect some unknown woman to first get in, know to use angel warding and subdue Sam? As Dean pointed out, if Cas had given him that scenario on any other day, he would have pinned it as completely ludicrous because that's exactly what it was. And Cas knew that – he did. Yet his feelings, illogical as they were, remained.

It was very frustrating.

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

The single story house was set back from the road, a neat patch of grass separating it. Its driveway curved around the garden, narrowing and creating a pathway up to the front porch. Hanging baskets swayed minutely as the breeze tickled them, casting plump shadows on the cream walls. Black numbers slanted down the wall diagonally next to the white front door, an unlit security light placed to the left. James did one last check of himself in the small window to the right of the front door. Gone was the clean cut Man of Letters. His dark green jacket was dirty and well worn, covering a loose fitting white t shirt and blue flannel shirt that concealed most of his bulk. Faded blue jeans and scuffed worker's boots completed his look. Ringing the doorbell once, he waited.

The door was flung open, revealing a petite teenager whose blonde haired was left in long wavy tangles, framing a face that scowled up at him. Her eyes, rimmed with heavy black liner, showed no semblance of welcome or warmth. She scrutinised him, looking him up and down, before dropping her hand from the door frame and walking back in, shouting as she went, leaving James stood alone in the door.

"Jody! Some guy's at the door!"

A few seconds later and the woman from James' folder rushed to the door, a frown that morphed into an apologetic smile on her face and a towel in her hands.

"I'm so sorry. Teenagers. Can I help you?"

James adopted an easy, open smile that oozed confidence. He watched Jody's eyes brighten just that little bit more, her interest clearly piqued. God, he hoped he didn't need to shoot her. That would suck.

"Jody, right?" he asked, holding out his hand. She took it slowly, her eyes still glued to his face, clearly trying to work out if she knew him.

"That's me, but…sorry I don't-"

"Oh! Right sorry. I'm Liam, an old hunting buddy of Sam and Dean Winchester." James paused, his smile fixed but his eyes watching her reaction carefully. He felt her slight hesitation before she let go of his hand. Jody stepped back and gestured for him to come in. James let go of the pistol he kept in the back of his jeans, walking inside as she shut the door behind him.

oOo

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

Dean crumpled up the burger wrapper, chucking it across the library, aiming for the bin. He missed, huffing but not bothering to get up and retrieve it. He'd get it later. He picked up the notepad he'd been scribbling on, scanning over the names again. The list of connections he had with England were few and tenuous at best: Tamara, Isaac, Bela and Crowley. Two were dead, Tamara hadn't contacted the Winchesters in over a decade and Crowley…he would never be able to hold Sam for so long without coming to lord it over Dean. Of course there was always Rowena, but what would she need Sam for? Plus, she was in America and the thought of her having anything to do with technology? Ridiculous. The witch could barely work a cell phone.

Dean's phone buzzed on the hardwood table, causing both men to look up. Cas' gaze dropped back to his book as Dean checked the number and answered.

"Garth, what you got?"

"My lines're deader'n a wendigo atta firework party. I got barely anyone on the circuit who knows any hunters that've ever even been ta England let alone come from there" Garth's southern drawl crackled down the line. Dean groaned.

"You couldn't find _anything?_ C'mon, man, you're the most connected hunter I know" he pushed, hoping for something. He could hear voices in the background, Bess shouting at someone amidst the sound of clattering pots and pans.

"Ex-hunter, amigo. I been outta the game too long. But I do know about this one guy, crazy old goat who used t'hunt, well, kinda everything – deer, wildcats, rugarus, kitsune, you name it, he'd ganked it. I 'member one guy tellin' me he'd-"

"Garth!" Dean barked, interrupting the werewolf, "could you stay on track? Who is this guy?"

"Name's Harold Knight. Friend o'mine worked a coupla cases with him once before he hopped back 'cross the pond. I'll see if I can get his number. Dunno how much help he'll be, but maybe he knows someone who knows someone."

"Awesome, thanks, Garth" Dean hung up, tossing his phone back onto the table.

"What about the people on your list?" Cas asked, placing his book on the table carefully. Dean stared down at it, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

"I dunno, Cas. I've just got this feelin' in my gut that there's somethin' obvious we're missin'. There are plenty of people here who'd have a grudge against me and Sam, but I ain't gotta clue from over there. Plus, there's the fact that they-"

Another loud buzz interrupted the hunter. He looked down at his phone, surprised to see Jody's number come up. "Hey, Jody, everythin' ok?" he asked.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Just wanted to see if there was anything you wanted to tell me?" Jody asked, Dean cottoning onto her self-proclaimed 'mom-voice' from 300 miles away. She was the only person who managed to make the hunter feel twelve years old all over again.

"No, why? What was I meant to tell you?"

"It would've been nice to have some notice of Liam coming over beforehand. I'm still trying to limit how much Claire's exposed to the hunting world. I would've preferred it if he'd come to the station like you did" she explained, her tone more exasperated that sharp. Dean frowned.

"Of who comin'?"

"Liam."

"Who the hell is Liam?"

"Your hunting buddy. He said you'd sent him" Jody's voice was hesitant now. The line was silent for a moment.

"I don't know anyone called Liam, Jody; I didn't send him" Dean said slowly, his voice calm and careful while his stomach plummeted. "I need you to take Alex and Claire and go to your office. Go now and wait there. I'll be as quick as I can." He disconnected the call and stood, Cas standing also.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, but I gotta bad feelin' Cas. We need to go. Now."

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

"Claire! Move your butt! We need to go!" Jody shouted, grabbing her purse, truck keys and gun. She didn't understand Dean's reaction, but she trusted the Winchesters more than anyone and if he said get somewhere safe, she did. She wasn't going to risk her kids.

Claire's feet stamped down the stairs, a familiar scowl on her pretty features.

"I don't get what the big deal is. He didn't look that tough to me" she grumbled, grabbing her bag. Jody stopped in front of her and held out her hand. Claire halted and looked at her. "What?" she asked. Jody raised an eyebrow, palm still uplifted. The teenager sighed and rolled her eyes, reaching into her bag and digging out her knife, putting it in Jody's hand.

"We've talked about this; you can't take weapons into the sheriff department" Jody chided as she put it in a drawer. She led the way out, Claire muttering behind her.

"Don't see why not. You're the damned sheriff. Not like you're gonna arrest me."

"Believe me, young lady; one day I just might" Jody retorted as they climbed into her truck. Things had been easier since the vampire incident months ago, but, with Claire, it was never going to be smooth sailing. Not for a long time yet. "Did you call Alex?"

"Yeah, she said she'd meet us there in twenty minutes." Reversing out of the driveway, Jody shifted into drive and put her foot down, tyres squealing on the asphalt.

From an adjoining road, James watched as the truck blasted past him, roaring off down the road. If he was right, Dean should be on his way. Jody may have confirmed that he was alive, but the council wanted photographic proof. With a drive off like that, she had clearly contacted Dean and realised that he didn't know James at all.

It was all coming together nicely.

oOo

It was dark by the time Dean and Castiel pulled up outside the Sioux Falls sheriff department. They climbed out of the Impala and ran up the stairs, Dean taking them two at a time. He needed to see that they were fine, that they weren't hurt. He hadn't been able to quell the unease and panic banging in his chest for the whole drive. Jody was family; he couldn't let anything happen to her.

Dean flashed his FBI badge at the desk clerk, not slowing his pace as he veered to the left, heading for Jody's office with Cas half a step behind him. They rounded a corner and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Jody sat at her desk, phone to her ear, both Alex and Claire on the chairs just outside of her office. Alex was one her laptop, clearly engrossed in her work, fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard. Claire sat crookedly in her chair, feet dangling over one side, her head propped against Alex's shoulder as she read, a heavy-looking hardback cradled in her lap. Dean smiled briefly; the girls had finally started to build a proper friendship. They both looked up as the men approached, a wide smile lighting up Alex's expression, a more subdued smile on Claire's. They stopped briefly, chatting before Jody caught Dean's eye, waving him in.

They hugged briefly, Dean squeezing the sheriff tightly before releasing her. He studied her face, noting an unusual flare of anguish hiding in the back of her eyes.

"Jody, this is Cas. Cas – Jody. You ok?"

"Nice to finally put a face to the name" Jody smiled, ignoring the question and pulling the angel in for a hug as well which he returned somewhat awkwardly. All three took a seat around her desk.

"What happened?" Dean asked, without introduction.

"This guy appeared at the door, claiming he was a hunter who'd worked with you and Sam. I invited him in 'cause discussing hunting business on my doorstep isn't really my thing. He said that you'd talked to him about that blood sample but you were chasing another lead and he'd offered to come and see me for an update 'cause he was in the area. When I said we'd already talked, he was surprised, saying that you must've forgotten to tell him. He thanked me, then he left."

"What did he look like?"

"Like most hunters – scruffy dark hair which was kinda long, but not as long as Sam's; stubble like he hadn't shaved for a couple of days. Wore a jacket, jeans, boots: the usual."

"Accent?"

"Just…normal. Couldn't place it to a state. I'm guessing you definitely don't know this guy?" Jody asked, her eyes steadily holding Dean's gaze. He shook his head.

"Doesn't sound like anyone I know and the only people I've talked to about that blood is you, Cas and the FBI guy who doesn't fit that description either. Plus, I never mentioned you." Throughout it all, Jody had spoken with a melancholic quietness that had seemed out of character for the fiery sheriff. Dean had assumed it was the idea of the intruder first, but soon realised there was more to it. "Jody, what aren't you tellin' us?"

The sheriff heaved a sigh, her shoulders sagging. She blinked back tears.

"You remember Scott – my lab tech who ran the blood?" Dean nodded. "He didn't show for work this morning. Debbie, the girl he usually picks up in the morning, said he didn't show. She called him but couldn't get an answer. She walked over to his place and found him dead in his kitchen. Throat cut. It looks like a break in, but…"

"But it's not."

"C'mon, Scott had a few run-of-the-mill things at home – game consoles, phone, tv. Why add murder to robbery? And for it to happen a couple of days after we've run some freaky blood that wiped the system? That's too much of a coincidence for me" Jody explained, her voice hard as she reined in her emotions. Guilt shot through Dean.

"I'm sorry. If I hadn't brought that sample here…"

"You didn't know, Dean; we never do. Don't be sorry. Just catch the son of a bitch."

Dean nodded. "We need to find out who the hell these people are. Fast."

oOo

 **I will try my absolute hardest to stay on top of everything and get the next update up soon!**


	9. Displeasure

**Let's see what the Men of Letters make of Dean's narrow escape… Enjoy!**

oOo

"Come on. A bit closer. A bit more." James sat perfectly still, only his fingers moving as they twisted the focus ring on the lens of his camera. He readjusted it again, right eye screwed shut as his left stared resolutely through the small window at the back. The slight fuzzing around Dean disappeared and James clicked multiple images in that second. He zoomed in again, refocused and repeated the motion. He flipped open the screen, checking the images. They were crystal clear: perfect. Dean Winchester's chiselled features stood out as clear as day. He remained frozen next to Jody, his stern expression immortalised. James had watched them talk soundlessly; he could imagine what they were talking about. Him. He wasn't fazed though; Dean was just some jumped up hunter and Jody was a small town sheriff. They'd be lucky if they found the door.

Satisfied, James slung the camera over his shoulder and slid easily out of the oak tree he'd been perched in. He landed with a dull thud on the grass below before walking back to his car.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Toni circled, prowling, waiting. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the pristine tiles, monotonous and irritating. She wore a loose white blouse, the sleeves of her black blazer rolled up at the elbows. It was something Sam had come to realise about her; she was perfectly happy to get her hands dirty, but she would never do it wearing jeans and a t shirt. No: that was what hunters wore and she was better than that. Heaven forbid her mask should slip. Sometimes he wondered how difficult it was keeping the monster within hidden. There were so many times the lines blurred and she just reminded him of Lucifer; dispassionate, calculating, manipulative. He'd seen the darkness in both; seen it, endured it. If he was honest with himself, which he rarely was these days, that was what truly frightened him. Not the things she did, the threats, the agony, but the way she looked at him.

The same way she was doing so now.

She made him feel weak. Useless. The perpetual deer stuck in the headlights. It wasn't a position the once-confident, proud hunter could stomach. Yet he couldn't let it show. If she knew how close she had come to making him say yes, she'd have her victory. He couldn't – wouldn't – let her.

Toni stared at her charge, noting his sagging shoulders, the dark hollows forming in his cheeks beneath his beard. Sam's pallor was dull, a light sheen of sweat coating his skin. He almost looked as if he was struggling to keep his head up, as though it was simply too heavy.

Moving around the front of the table, she finally pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table. Sam shifted in his chair, only moving slightly yet the chains looping from the cuffs pinning his hands behind his back scraped and rattled. He hated every time Toni came; she didn't trust him – not that she should – and that resulted in some sort of restraint every single time. He despised his captivity, that she had taken his choice, his control, allowing her lackeys to manhandle him into whatever position she wanted him in next.

"This could all be over Sam. You do realise you're doing this to yourself?" she remarked, her tone chiding and full of disappointment, like he was some errant child who had forced her hand. So they were playing the compassion game today. That made a change. Sam said nothing, just clenched his jaw, staring up and over her head. "I want to help you. I want us to get past this. To build the future, but you've got to give me _something_ , Sam. How long is it since you've been outside? Three months? How about since you really got a chance to stretch your legs? I'd give you that opportunity – I would – but you haven't let me. All I want from you is one tiny little word, one 'yes'; is that so hard? One small word and then we can start talking about giving you back your freedom."

Sam slid his gaze up from the table top. Over her voice, he could still hear the distant humming of the headphones, the soft whisperings, _you did this: it's your fault_ , fluttering through his mind like a mantra that had got itself stuck in his head. The guilt had so nearly broken the last vestiges of strength he had. Honestly, he couldn't understand why he was clinging on. Why he kept fighting. Finally, he breathed a loud sigh, his chest deflating. He moved his gaze to hers, meeting her unblinkingly.

"Isn't it obvious? Neither of us can give the other what we want. What's the point in any of this?" he answered, his tone soft and tired. There was no bite to his response; he simply couldn't muster the strength to add it. Toni scowled, her brows knitting tightly together as she opened her mouth to respond. Inside her jacket pocket, her phone vibrated. Getting up, she shot Sam a parting glare before answering it.

"What do you have?" she asked, bring the phone up to her ear as she slipped out of the door and earshot of Sam. James' voice crackled across the line, his tone triumphant, eager.

"It's definitely him. 100% Dean Winchester. I'm sending you the files now. What do you want me to do?"

"Keep him under surveillance. I need to bring this to the council immediately. Do _not_ lose him." Toni disconnected and brought up her emails. Opening the most recent from James, her eyes narrowed as she stared down at Dean's sombre expression. Frustration at her lack of knowledge swelled within the Woman of Letters; she knew everything about the Winchesters. How Dean was still alive was a mystery that she wanted – needed – answers to.

Dialling another number, Toni started her preparations. If she wanted answers to the riddle, she was going to have to start back at the beginning. But before that, she had to find out what Dean's fate was to be.

Climbing the stairs and entering the main house, she caught Anna as she headed for the upstairs, the phone still ringing, pressed to her ear. "I'm done for the day, Anna."

"Very good, milady. I'll inform Mr Maguire. I'll make sure he gets the car ready first" Anna replied, her expression blank as she spoke. It was not her place to question.

oOo

Sam sat still, his head bowed, gaze fixed on the table in front of him, slate eyes glazed and vacant. He chewed his lip absently, aware of the distant grumbling of his stomach, mulling over Toni's departure. She had been preoccupied of late, breaking routines that the hunter had got used to. Her appearances were more sporadic, moods interchangeable. Something was changing, but Sam had no idea what it was that was causing it. She was pushing him harder, getting more frustrated when her methods got nothing. Clearly, Toni was not someone who was used to failure. Once upon a time, Sam would have felt a level of satisfaction at that fact. Now all he felt was the ache.

And, God, did he _ache._

His body, in so many places, but none as heavy as the lead weight that hung in the left side of his chest. Why wasn't time making it any easier?

The door breezed open, the dark haired man shuffling in. Wisps of grey peppered his sideburns and flecked through the stubble on his cheeks. He wore his usual grey suit – Sam had never seen him in anything else – a tray balanced between his hands. Putting it down on the table, he moved silently around Sam, a set of keys jangling in his hands. The Winchester had no idea what his name was; he only every saw him when he brought food or came to restrain him. He used to come with James, but James hadn't been down here for, what, a week? The dark haired man never hurt Sam; they'd almost come to a mutual respect: Sam never tried to attack him or run and in return the nameless man almost seemed to show concern for him. He wasn't brutal or cruel; he allowed Sam some small semblances of dignity.

Removing the handcuffs, Thomas Maguire put them in his pocket before gliding back towards the door. He stopped just before leaving, glancing back over his shoulder. Sam remained where he was, his right wrist cupped in his left hand, absentmindedly rubbing at his chafed skin. He looked…smaller. Thomas could remember the Jekyll and Hyde nature of the hunter when he had first arrived. Days of screaming, banging on walls and throwing furniture were mirrored with days of tears, wails and finally catatonia. Now he had nothing left, no fire, no fight. It made the older man sad. No one should be so broken.

"Sam, you really should eat some of that this time; it'll do you a world of good" he said quietly before shrinking from the room.

Sam stared at the plate of food before pushing himself up, using the armrests on the chair as leverage. He staggered slowly towards the small cot in the corner. Easing himself down onto it, Sam lay on his side, drawing his knees up and facing the wall, his chest heaving. Hugging his knees to him, he closed his eyes and ignored the pain radiating from his abdomen.

oOo

 **Men of Letters Headquarters, Westminster, London**

Apprehension filled Toni as she stepped into the Men of Letters' council room for the second time within a week. It wasn't an activity she enjoyed; usually it entailed something high level that meant more work for her. However, that wasn't the source of her nerves this time. No, it was that she had no idea what they would say regarding Dean Winchester. All the work she had done, the progress she'd made with Sam. They could undo it all.

She sat at one end of the table in silence, the six other members also sitting without speaking as they all waited for Markham to appear. It didn't take him long and the room suddenly became more oppressive, filling with his unwavering air of authority as soon as he entered. Breezing past the other Men of Letters, Jonathan took his place at the head of the table. He flipped open the file Toni had placed in front of him as she stood up. The other members did the same with their own versions. Seven copies of Dean stared up at them.

"James categorically confirms that it is Dean Winchester, sir. The image in front of you was taken last night at the Sioux Falls Sheriff Department. The other photographs are from my dossiers on the Winchesters. You can see they are a perfect match. James also spoke to Jody Mills, a known friend of the Winchesters, who confirmed Dean was alive. I have yet to establish how though. Currently, James is still keeping Dean under surveillance, pending your instructions."

"It certainly is an interesting turn of events. I'm intrigued as to why Sam is so convinced of his brother's death when clearly that isn't the case. We haven't heard anything of The Darkness since the day Sam joined our ranks; I had assumed that Dean had disappeared along with her. I'm sure it will be a fascinating tale, one worthy of entering our catalogue" Jonathan remarked, leaning back in his chair as he lay the photo flat on the table.

"Are you suggesting that we bring another…hunter," one of the members on his left nearly choked on the word, his tone incredulous, "into our midst?"

"With all due respect, sir; we are Men of Letters not zookeepers. Our job is to collect knowledge not tame arrogant savages" another spluttered, his green eyes glancing nervously at Jonathan. Their leader's eyes narrowed minutely, ceasing all other attempts to interrupt.

"And is it not therefore our purpose to find out these missing facts? Clearly an important historical event has occurred and, whilst we thought all avenues of inquiry were gone, we now have a perfect opportunity to fill in the blanks. I understand your concerns – we are not lion tamers – but we clearly have some ability to do so. Toni, would you not agree to that, regarding Sam?" Jonathan questioned, his tone clear and calm.

"It is true; Sam is a vastly different man to the hunter that we took in a few months ago–"

"There you go then," Jonathan interrupted. "If our successes with Sam are anything to go by, I can assume that having both Winchesters could be a valuable resource. At the very least, I want Dean questioned."

"And if he doesn't prove cooperative?" another asked.

"I'm sure we won't have any problems. I would assume he is looking for Sam and therefore will be more than happy to go along with us. Toni, please inform James of our decision and make the necessary arrangement for Dean's arrival" Jonathan instructed. Toni nodded, collecting her files before turning towards the door. The rest of the Men of Letters murmured around her, delving into their own opinions on the latest turn of events. "One more thing," Jonathan called over the noise. Toni turned. "Inform Sam of his brother's arrival. I'm sure the news will please him."

"Of course, sir; I'll tell him personally" Toni flashed a smile before leaving. The door clicked quietly closed behind her. Toni stalked down the corridor, the file crumpling in her hand, her expression darkening into a scowl.

Why couldn't Dean Winchester just stay dead?

oOo

 **I'd love to hear your thoughts!**


	10. Closer

**A quick note: any medical or mechanical inaccuracies are my own. I am neither a medical professional or a mechanic!**

 **Enjoy!**

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Dean lay sprawled across the sofa, face buried in a soft, patterned cushion, one arm hanging off the side, his long legs spilling over the armrest. His mouth was open, face completely relaxed, hair sticking up in multiple directions. An old embroidered quilt, the homemade kind that was covered in a mish mash of squares cut from different colours, covered him as he slept.

Claire hunched down next to his head, studying his face, a small smile lightening her features. She had come to love Jody and, even deep down, Alex; she tolerated Castiel as best she could, but she had the upmost respect for the Winchesters. They didn't treat her like a kid, didn't tell her that she should be normal. She knew they respected her. She didn't like seeing them worry; she wanted to help. Yet, even she conceded that this hunt was beyond her. Finding Sam was too important for her amateurish skills. The bits and pieces she had overhead last night left her cold. Claire had begun to think that the Winchesters could do anything and the thought that Dean was struggling, getting nowhere, filled her with dismay.

She held the steaming cup of coffee closer to Dean's nose, wafting it gently with her other hand. Her smiled widened to a grin when she saw his nose twitch, the strong aroma breaking through the veil of his dreams. The arm that had fallen off the sofa jerked up suddenly, forcing Claire to withdraw the mug quickly before he knocked it, his hand rubbing at his face, a guttural groan escaping his throat.

Green eyes eased open and Dean blinked, his eyes screwing up when a large blurry face filled his vision. He blinked again, Claire's face coming into focus.

"I thought you could probably do with some coffee" she offered, holding it up as he jolted upright. She laughed at the sight of his flattened hair sticking up like a lopsided Mohawk. He flung back the quilt, swatting at his unruly hair with his hand as he took the proffered beverage.

"Aren't teenagers meant to stay in bed until midday?" he muttered, taking a swig of the burning liquid. It was black and strong, coursing through him immediately.

"Probably. But Jody wants us packed and gone by eight" Claire replied, sitting on the pouf, her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees.

"Yes she does," Jody's voice rang through from the kitchen, "and somehow I don't think you're gonna be ready if you sit there making small talk, Claire Novak! Go get the rest of your stuff or I'll pack the first things I find!"

"Jeez. If she does that, I'll be wearing Alex's crap for a week" Claire grumbled, scampering off. Dean laughed into the mug, downing the remainder of the drink. He'd needed it. It had been late when they'd got back to Jody's house and, even then, he had stayed up later than the sheriff and her girls, his mind unable to shut off its protective mode. Only after Castiel reassured him for the hundredth time that he would stand watch did the hunter finally concede.

He got up, wandering into the kitchen to find the smell of waffles, which had been masked by the scent of his coffee, was mouth-watering. Jody stood by her waffle iron, removing another batch and putting it on a plate.

"Mornin' sunshine" she said with a smile, gesturing to the table. Cas was already sat there, his gaze watching out of the window, clearly lost in thought. Dean sat down as Jody laid the plate of waffles in front of him, a side of bacon and bottle of maple syrup appearing.

"This is awesome, thanks" he grinned, tipping the bottle of syrup up, drenching his waffles.

"There's more if you want them. Figured you'd need enough to keep you going" Jody replied, settling in at the table with her own breakfast. Dean forked a huge square into his mouth, moaning appreciatively as he chewed. Jody looked at him in both amusement and surprise.

"I only get waffles if I make them. Sam sucks at cookin'."

Jody laughed. "I thought he was good at everything."

Dean shook his head and swallowed. "Nope. Burns everythin' he touches; it's one of the saddest things you'll ever see. It's like a food massacre." Jody chuckled, the sound comforting and homely. The three fell into companionable silence as they ate.

Finishing the last of his bacon, Dean mopped up the rest of the syrup with the final piece of waffle. He gave a satisfied sigh and turned his attention to his second cup of coffee.

"Have you got everythin' you need to stay at the cabin until this is over?" he asked.

"The girls do. Besides, with me still coming into town, we'll have enough."

"Jody…"

"No, Dean," she said sharply, putting her mug down and staring straight at the hunter. "I can't just up and leave. I know we think Scott's killer is connected to you but I can't go. I won't. Scott deserves justice and I might find something that will help you.

"The girls will be safe; I wouldn't leave them if I didn't think they would be. They know to check in with me every hour. The sooner we find out who's orchestrating all of this, the sooner we get Sam back and the sooner we can go back to normal."

He knew she was right. Knew it and hated it. And yet, Jody was nothing if not stubborn; she would do what she thought was best and Dean had to accept that.

"Alright. Cas will follow you though."

"What about you?" the angel asked, finally breaking his own reverie. Dean shook his head.

"Something in my gut tells me this guy – woman – whatever – is close. If I'm right, they'll follow me. I don't want them to know where you're goin'. It's safer this way."

"You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" Jody asked, raising an eyebrow. Dean swigged the last of the coffee and stood up.

"Not if I can help it."

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

"Miss Toni, if I may…" Thomas started as he stood watching the Woman of Letters arranging her tools on a cart. They were both stood in the observation room adjacent to Sam's cell.

"What is it, Thomas?" Toni snapped, her eyes remaining focused on the equipment she was preparing.

"I don't wish to sound impertinent, but could I suggest you leave your ministrations for another time? As I informed you a week ago: Sam hasn't been eating or drinking properly. He appears to be rather weakened; I'm concerned that an intense session will do a lot more harm than good."

"And as I told you: if he is choosing not to eat then that is his problem. He'll give in eventually. They always do. I think a session is exactly what's needed" Toni replied, her tone flat. Thomas stared at her, unconvinced. Sam Winchester had already proved her theory wrong; he hadn't given in to her and wasn't showing any signs of doing so. "Now, kindly go about your duties in the main house. I'll probably call for you in an hour or two."

Thomas inclined his head and stepped backwards towards the door. "Very good, madam." With one last glance towards Sam, he left.

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Dean had watched Jody and Castiel leave, Alex and Claire concealed in the backseat of Cas' rental, having entered through the garage. The Impala stayed sat on the driveway, a clear flag that the Winchester hadn't left the house with the others. Cas and Jody had left together but would soon split up, both taking winding routes to get to one of the old hunter cabins Bobby had kept close by. Whoever it was would have needed to do some serious research to even hazard a guess at where they'd gone. Which is exactly what Dean wanted. The niggle at the back of his mind continued to prod the paranoia within him; he was convinced that if their mystery assailant was still in town, they were there for Dean not Jody. Yet Dean also knew how easily someone would try to use them as bait. He wouldn't risk that.

He'd been sat, waiting, for two hours now. Two hours and absolutely nothing had happened. To be honest, he hadn't known what to expect, just…something. Cas had called, announcing their safe arrival at the cabin but that was it. Now he was restless; there were other things he could be doing than waiting for some imaginary person to continue hiding.

Grabbing the keys to the Impala, Dean slung on his suit jacket, heading out the door. The Impala's hinges squealed as he got in, the suspension dropping slightly under his weight. Starting the ignition, the comforting roar washed over the Winchester, easing the tension that was thrumming through him. Slinging his arm over the backrest, Dean reversed out before heading back towards the centre of Sioux Falls.

oOo

Scott's house was still a hive of activity with police tape cordoning off the property to the public, an armed officer stood at the door. Most of the forensics team had finished, but there was still a lot to do; when it was one of their own, the department made sure to go over everything with all the resources they had at their disposal. Scott's body had been removed the day before, leaving the stained furniture and coagulated blood pool as the main remnants of what had happened. Dean stood to one side, his arms crossed as he surveyed the gruesome scene before him.

"Early analysis concludes that it was a knife attack; clean, one stroke. Whoever it is has clearly done it before" the forensic technician explained, scrolling through the notes on his phone. "The blood spatter indicates that it was done from behind." His voice faltered, losing the professional edge he was trying to use to keep his emotions in check. "You'll forgive the language, agent, but the perp was a cowardly son of a bitch. Scott didn't ever do anything but help people. I hope he fries."

"Don't worry, when I'm through with him, he will" Dean reassured him, iron coating his voice. He'd come to the scene, a part of him wondering whether he was going to find anything pointing to the supernatural: sigils, sulphur, anything. But there wasn't. The killer was clearly human with human methods of killing. That crossed yet another theory off of the list; supernatural involvement was a no go. Dean had never really believed it was in the first place since the bunker was supposed to be warded against everything evil. But then, they were supposed to be the only ones with a key so go figure.

He clapped a hand on the technician's shoulder before leaving the room. He walked out to the backyard, surveying it carefully. It was enclosed by a six-foot fence on three sides, an unbolted gate on the side. No one would have seen anything. The poor kid would have been totally cut off – there was no one nearby to help him. Dean's fists clenched as he stalked back around the front to the Impala.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Sam didn't know the cause of it, but Toni had been especially quiet. Normally, she would have asked her questions over and over again by now, but today she hadn't. Yet her quietness couldn't be mistaken for thoughtfulness or even weariness. He'd learned long ago that when Toni was quiet, she was livid. When she screamed and raved at him, she was angry. But she was the type of woman whose true anger simmered and bubbled beneath a carefully constructed mask. The very one she wore now.

Coupling that with the fact that her favourite toy was in her hand and Sam knew he was in trouble.

His whole body quivered and jerked, covered in a thin coat of sweat that shone under the harsh strip lights above him. It dribbled down through his hairline, soaking the back of his neck. The manacles around his wrists dug in painfully; they were the only things holding him up. Angry blisters were already forming across his naked stomach, adding yet another layer to the agony he had already endured.

He didn't have the strength for this.

Toni stood before him, holding her torch a few inches from his face, letting the heat bite at his skin, the rushing and spitting noise drilling into him. The bluish flames flicked to a point at the end and he tried to lean back, tried to move away, when she slowly lowered it, inching it closer and closer to his skin. The smell of burning hair filtered between them as the blowtorch caught the fine hairs on his chest.

She studied his physique, noting the stark differences to the hunter she had captured months ago. He was thin, almost devastatingly so now – his ribs becoming visible beneath his skin which had a greyish sheen to it. Maybe Thomas was right. Clearly the hunter had been rationing more than she'd thought. If she wasn't careful, it would seem that he was in fact stubborn enough to starve himself.

"What do you say, Sam? Have you changed your mind?" she asked softly, her eyes following the trail of blue. Sam said nothing. The heat got worse. "Come on, Sam; give me something" she crooned. When he didn't reply, she finally drew the torch across his abdomen horizontally, letting the fire touch his skin. A strangled screech ripped from his throat, his body lurching, trying to get away from the flame. "There you go; that wasn't so hard was it?" she smiled, voice drowned out by his scream. Her gaze flicked up to his face. His eyes were screwed shut, his beautiful features contorted in agony. She watched as his expression dropped, his whole body slumping, suspended by the shackles above his head, head lolling forward. Toni removed the torch, sighing in annoyance. She turned it off, putting it to one side as she grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, yanking his head up. She slapped him, trying to rouse him.

Nothing.

Grabbing a glass of water, she tried flinging that at him. Still nothing.

"Well that was disappointing" she sighed, rolling her eyes. She looked at her watch: twenty minutes. Most disappointing, indeed.

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Dean pulled away, fingers tapping against the steering wheel rhythmically even though the radio was off. All that the crime scene had managed to do was convince him that the person he was after was cold and dispassionate, both of which he'd already concluded. Yet the more they uncovered, the more he was sure that this was a group; too much was going on. And it had all restarted since he'd got that blood tested. Whoever it was hadn't been counting on him finding the blood.

"Son of a bitch" the hunter cursed quietly when realisation hit him. Whoever it was had never cleaned the blood off because they hadn't expected anyone to go back to the bunker.

They hadn't expected Dean to be alive.

He grabbed his phone, dialling Cas' number without taking his eyes from the road. The angel picked up on the first ring.

"Dean, are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I didn't get much from Jody's tech guy's crime scene. Look, I need you to do some brain stormin' about who knew – or could've known – about our plan against Amara. I want plausible ideas and complete guesses; we need to start thinking further outta the box" Dean instructed as he steered through a junction, frowning when he felt the Impala judder.

"I'll do my best. I'm sure Claire and Alex will be useful. Claire is very taken with the idea of conspiracy theories" Cas replied as the Impala lurched again.

"What the hell?" Dean growled, steering the car towards the nearest parking lot – the Fryn' Pan restaurant.

"What's wrong?"

"I dunno. Baby's havin' a moment. I'll call you back" Dean grumbled, cutting the engine and getting out of the car. He slid his phone back into his pocket and looked around him. The road was busy, cars zooming past in the usual midday traffic when everyone left work in search of lunch. The Fryn' Pan's parking lot was peppered with cars. It was busy; he was fine.

The Winchester popped the hood of the Impala, leaning in. His eyes scanned the engine casing, scrutinising everything he saw. No one knew the Impala like Dean; a single anomaly would stick out like a sore thumb to him. His initial scan showed nothing out of the ordinary. Balancing his palms on the metal of the bodywork, he leaned in further to get a look down the back.

"Everything alright, son?"

Dean jumped, cursing under his breath when he nearly smacked his head on the underside of the hood. Extracting himself, he turned to find a hunched old man stood near him, half-moon reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He wore a tan hat, wisps of tufty white hair fluffing out from beneath it. Years ago he would've been a tall man but now his back was hunched painfully beneath a fading jacket, his posture almost bent in half. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the man wheezed, his voice breathless even though he was stood still. "Looks like you're havin' some trouble."

"Yeah, just some loose connections, I think" Dean replied, giving a brief half smile. He locked gazes with the man who smiled gently up at him. He stuck his head back in, turning his back as the old man continued to chat.

"Always a problem with these older models. Nothing stays fixed. Used to have one of these back in '88; one of the best cars I ever had. Too crippled to be behind the wheel of one now."

Dean's fingers caught hold of the offending wire; it'd been loosened, giving it enough leverage to come loose with the vibrations of the road. He deftly put it back together, his mind calculating. He glanced quickly to the left then the right.

It was clear.

In one swift motion, he twisted, pulling his gun from under his jacket, turning and jamming it up under the old man's jaw, stopping him mid-ramble, his other hand grasping the back of his neck, holding his head in place.

"Where's my brother?" Dean snarled, his face inches from the old man's. His expression was one of abject terror – as you'd expect from someone who had a gun rammed into their jawline – yet somehow it looked…false. Staring, Dean realised why.

His eyes.

The cold grey was completely calm, void of anything. Dean could've been threatening him with a water pistol for all the concern that appeared in the dead steel facing him. Dean pressed harder, finger tightening on the trigger. "What have you done with Sam?" he roared.

A slow smile curved on the old man's face as he slowly rose to his full height, elevating him a couple of inches above Dean. Yet Dean's grip never slipped. But he wasn't prepared for the swing from his left, the man's fist connecting with the side of his head, knocking him sideways. His vision exploded as he staggered, hitting the front grill of the Impala. Another punch landed behind his ear, drilling him closer to the ground, ripping a gasp from his throat. He was down and did the only thing he could think of. Turning the gun, he fired. Heard the bang and howl from the man as the bullet ripped through his thigh. He staggered back. Dean shook his head, trying to clear the stars that bounced around his vision, aware of the sound running feet. Hauling himself up on the Impala, Dean turned and saw the man drop into his car, ignition starting and wheels screeching as he tore out of the parking lot. Dean slumped against Baby, breathing heavily.

"Son of a bitch" Dean gasped in frustration, his hand still wrapped tightly around his gun.

He'd escaped.

oOo

 **Fic trivia for you: The Fryn' Pan is a real restaurant in Sioux Falls!**

 **Please review!**


	11. One Step Closer

**A nice long chapter for you today – I really got into this one!**

 **Enjoy!**

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

A rivulet of diluted red trickled down his thigh, dripping steadily onto the floor. His ruined slacks were crumpled in a bloodied pile at his feet as his fingers worked deftly, sinking the hooked needle into his thigh in a slow, repetitive motion. Damned hunter. James groaned as he started on the penultimate stitch that would seal the bullet wound in his leg. A bloodied pair of forceps and the bullet lay on the table next to him, his phone, which buzzed and lit up, next to them. Picking it up and balancing it between his shoulder and ear, James answered it as he continued his work.

"What's your update?" Toni asked, her tone as brittle as ever. James winced as he fed the needle through.

"I had a minor setback."

"What kind of setback?"

"It would seem Dean isn't quite as ignorant as I thought. He's actually got pretty good instincts. If he wasn't a damned hunter, I'd be impressed. Don't worry – I won't underestimate him next time" James explained, exhaling slowly as he pulled the final stitch through.

"I know he's just a hunter but you should know better, James" Toni chided, her voice softening ever so slightly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. Wounded pride more than anything. I'll get it done. I'm just going to have to be a bit more imaginative than I expected. I'm going to lay low for a day or so; I put the tracker on his car so I can keep tabs on him but he's going to be more alert for the next few days at least. Has the council said anything more?"

"No. I'll update you if they do."

"Did you do as they said and tell Sam about Dean?"

Toni's laugh echoed down the phone. "Of course not! Why would I do that?"

oOo

 **Sioux Falls, South Dakota**

Castiel slowed and turned into the overgrown driveway, the faded and cracked sign now even more derelict than it used to be. The empty carcasses of countless vehicles were still piled up high in the yard, forgotten and forlorn. The ruins of the house still stood flaking and dead, a black shell surrounded by an eerie loneliness that perpetuated the whole area. It saddened the angel; he knew how many happy memories the Winchesters had had here. In a strange way, it seemed logical that Dean would come back to Bobby Singer's house; he had always felt safe here. Some days Bobby's loss was more keenly felt than others.

The Winchester sat on the hood of the Impala, gazing up at Bobby's house. His gaze turned as Cas' car rolled to a stop but his expression remained solemn. Cas got out of his rental and walked over, relieved to see that Dean was alright. Physically, anyway.

"What happened?" he asked, halting in front of Dean, his hands buried in the pockets of his trench coat.

"The son of a bitch came after me. He was right there and I lost him" Dean growled, pushing himself off of the car. Anger rolled off him in waves.

"You weren't prepared; I wouldn't say you 'lost' him. It does mean that you're clearly seen as a threat to whoever it is. What did he look like?"

Dean shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "He was dressed like an old guy. Deep southern accent, hunched over – I nearly didn't think anything of him. He seemed total harmless."

"What changed your mind?" Cas pushed.

"His eyes. God, they were dead. Flat, y'know? He seemed totally open and then when I looked in his eyes, I got this shiver. Good thing I listened to my gut."

"It's interesting that they've waited until now to approach you" Cas speculated, his gaze moving around the auto yard.

"Well that's what got me thinkin'; why would they? The only thing I can think of is that whoever it is must've figured I was dead. And then I thought…" Dean's voice broke, catching in his throat, "Sam must've thought I was dead too. Shit, Cas, what if Sammy's lived the last few months thinkin' I was dead?"

Castiel said nothing; nothing he could say would comfort the hunter. Dean knew what it was like to think Sam was dead, knew it and knew how it felt. It'd broken him. When Jake had stabbed him, when Lucifer took him. He'd spent that year with Lisa living in a daze, numb and unable to function as he had when he had Sam by his side. He'd be a shell, a mere shadow of his hunting self. Getting back, being beside his brother again, was the only thing that drove Dean to continue to fight in Purgatory. He struggled to blink back the tears that were welling, unbidden, unwanted, in his eyes. "You know how smart Sam is; he should've been able to escape these bastards by now. Cas, what if he's given up?" he whispered.

"Then we find him. Even if he has given up, Dean; _we_ haven't. We won't. We're clearly making them nervous or they wouldn't be coming after you. We need to use that to our advantage. They're going to start making mistakes and we're going to use them to get Sam back." Cas' voice was hard and sure, soothing the panic that was welling inside Dean. He was right. They were starting to get somewhere.

"Did you make the list like I asked?"

Cas nodded, drawing it out of his pocket and handing it over. "I would suggest that we go back to the bunker and match what I could think of to the records. There could be something there. Hopefully Garth will call when we're there."

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Thomas unlocked the door to Sam's cell, another tray of food balanced in his hands. Sam had missed dinner the previous day (not that Thomas thought he was going to eat it) having still been unconscious after Toni's latest onslaught. The door slid open easily and he stepped inside. Setting the tray down carefully on the table, Thomas moved towards Sam. The hunter lay on the cot, above the covers, facing the wall. As he got closer, he saw that the shirt he'd dressed Sam in yesterday was drenched in sweat. A light trembling vibrated through the Winchester's body, his legs curled up into a foetal position, his arms bent in front of him.

"Sam?" Thomas called gently, leaning over his charge. No response. He lightly pushed the soaked chestnut strands out of the way of Sam's face, revealing eyes that were tightly closed, his expression contorted in one of pain. His breathing was ragged and shallow. "Sam, can you hear me?" Thomas called again, louder this time. What on earth was going on? Still Sam didn't respond.

With broad hands, Thomas gripped Sam's shoulder and smoothly rolled him onto his back. A moan escaped Sam's lips but still he wasn't roused. Thomas' eyes scanned up and down his body, frowning when he noticed a red splotching on the front of his white shirt. Rolling it up gently, he revealed the bandages he'd applied to Sam's burns yesterday. One, the longest, was bloodied all the way through. He peeled away the medical tape that held the soft bandage in place, cursing when he saw what was underneath. The burn, which had blistered yesterday, had burst, oozing blood and plasma, redness expanding around the whole area. It was severely inflamed and the skin around it was burning to the touch. The shock of his treatment yesterday combined with his starvation had left his body weak. Infection was rife and storming through him. "Shit" Thomas ran out, racing back up the stairs.

He reappeared moments later, Toni stalking in behind him. She looked down at Sam, her expression contorted into one of annoyance.

"He would go and get ill, wouldn't he? I want him weak not dead" she huffed.

"I really think it's best if we treat him upstairs, Madam. He's going to need round the clock care until I can get his fever to break and I would rather be able to do that where I can have everything within reach rather than having to rush upstairs every five minutes" Thomas explained. Toni waved her hand flippantly and turned away.

"Do what you need to do, Thomas. Just make sure he lives and doesn't get loose." She stalked out, leaving Thomas to clean up her mess.

oOo

Everything was on fire. His eyes burned beneath his eyelids, a sharp scratching tore at the back of his throat whenever he swallowed and every move was pure agony. Sam's clothes felt like sandpaper against his skin, the slightest movement drawing moans unbidden from his throat.

"Dean…" he whimpered when he felt his bed jostle, sending a rod of pain straight up his spine.

"Shush, it's alright, Sam. We're nearly there" a voice murmured to him. He couldn't tell who it was. Was it Dean? Cas? Had they come to stop this? Why did he hurt so much? Sam cracked his eyes open, blearily looking up, instantly wishing he hadn't. He was moving, unidentifiable colours and shapes moving too quickly above his head. Heat was burning him from the inside yet he couldn't stop shivering, body convulsing uncontrollably. Was he doing the Trials again? Maybe he hadn't finished them…no, he didn't. Maybe this was the last stage. He couldn't remember.

He stopped moving and a face loomed over him. Sam squinted up, trying to focus. He tried to lift a hand, to reach out to his brother, but Dean was holding him down, holding his wrists painfully.

"Let me go. Dean you're hurting me" he sobbed, his eyes watering against the painful ache in the back of his eye sockets.

Thomas looked down at the Winchester, his expression solemn. He'd moved the hunter onto a gurney and wheeled him to one of the guest bedrooms; it was simply decorated and had his medical equipment already set up. Thomas had been looking after various members of the Men of Letters for most of his life, his medical training making him invaluable when it came to caring for those who fell under Toni's care.

Sam looked up at him through bloodshot eyes, his gaze unfocused and roaming. He pulled weakly at the soft medical cuffs that were wrapped loosely around his wrists, clearly thinking that Thomas was physically touching him. Thomas lowered the metal grab rail on the left side of the bed, giving himself better access to the hunter's left arm. Picking up an alcoholic wipe from the table beside the bed, he gently turned Sam's hand so that it was faced palm down and cleaned it, holding it still when he squirmed. Still grasping his hand, Thomas put the wipe to one side and picked up the cannula that he'd unwrapped earlier. Sam gasped when the needle slid into the vein in the back of his hand, Thomas making soft shushing sounds, trying to soothe him. He fastened the cannula in place with surgical tape, before hooking the IV bag he'd readied up to it. When he released the Winchester's hand, Sam tugged it, the cannula coming dangerously close to the medical cuff.

"No, Sam. Don't pull it out" Thomas chided, his tone remaining soft, sympathetic. He held Sam's hand, unbuckling the cuff with the other so that he could tighten it. The last thing he wanted was for the cannula to be disturbed.

The thing was, Thomas did feel sorry for the hunter; it wasn't an act. He'd seen what Sam had been through, seen it and admired him. The man had clearly had one hell of a life to withstand Toni's ministrations. Lesser men had broken a long time before Sam. Thomas didn't know what Sam had done – it wasn't his place to ask questions – but a large part of him wished that the hunter would just give in to Toni. Somehow, he didn't think that was going to happen. So he did what he could, making sure that Sam at least had some semblance of care. Unhooking the grab rail, Thomas raised it again before turning to go and get clean towels.

It was going to be a long day.

oOo

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

The taco was half in Dean's mouth when his phone vibrated across the table. Typical. Every time he had his mouth full, someone wanted him. Putting the half-devoured taco down, he grabbed his phone, checking the caller ID.

"'Bout time, Garth!" he grumbled through his mouthful, chewing furiously.

"Well a good mornin' to you too sunshine!" Garth laughed, his deep southern drawl colouring his laugh. "Although judging by whatever you're chewin' it's more like lunchtime."

Dean swallowed. "It _is_ lunch time, Garth." Silence echoed down the phone.

"Huh. Well'd you lookit that. So 'tis. 'splains why Bessie's roast smells so good."

Rolling his eyes, Dean switched the phone to his other ear. "Any chance you got that number?"

"'Course I did, hombre. Why else'd I be callin'? You gotta pen?" Dean swore that he could hear Garth's smile down the phone. Did he ever get mad? Dean scribbled down the number that Garth recited. "Okay, so Harold is still alive'n'kickin' down in some back end of beyond place in England. If you check the time zones, you'll probably catch him. Think they're usually ahead of us."

"Garth, you're amazing. Thanks, man" Dean replied, hope billowing inside him.

"No problem. Keep me posted."

"Will do" Dean assured him as he hung up. Grabbing his laptop, he looked up the time difference between Lebanon and England. Six hours put it at around seven in the evening there.

He dialled the number and held his breath.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

The abrupt ring of the landline phone pierced through the quiet of the living room where Toni was sat on the sofa, cup of tea in one hand, newspaper in the other. Putting the paper down, she reached over the arm of the chair and picked up the handset, bringing it to her ear.

"Yes?"

"Toni, it's Jonathan" Markham's smooth voice replied. Toni sat up straight, an unconscious movement, putting her tea cup back on its saucer.

"Good evening, sir; I wasn't expecting to hear from you today."

"Not to worry – I just wanted to let you know that I'm sending Jake your way. Now that we know Dean is alive and well, I wanted another opinion on how Sam is progressing so that we can be assured that he'll consider joining us. I know you've submitted your reports, but the other board members felt it was important for an impartial view. I know you've done a lot of work with Sam. It's nothing for you to worry about. He'll be there by eight."

"Of c-course, sir. That's not a problem. We'll be expecting him" Toni answered, ending the call. She stared down at the phone, her mouth open, arm frozen. "Shit!" she shrieked, reanimated as she threw the handset across the room, smashing it against the wall. She was on her feet and racing up the stairs in an instant. Bursting into the guest room where Sam had been moved to, she found Thomas stood at his bedside, dabbing at the Winchester's forehead with a cold compress. He looked up in surprise.

"Is everything alright, madam?"

Toni stalked across the room, staring down at Sam. His eyes were closed and his breathing was still shallow, his skin clammy and pale, a stark contrast to the dark beard gracing his cheeks.

"How is he?" she demanded.

"It's hard to say. I'm trying to battle the fever at the moment. I'm hoping it will break in the next few hours" he explained, frowning as he watched her stare at the hunter.

"Has he woken?"

"He's been in and out of consciousness. He was hallucinating earlier but that seems to have subsided." Her eyes were roaming up and down, assessing Sam, calculating. Her eyes stopped on his face, her mouth downturned. She motioned to Sam's face and then her own.

"He needs cleaning up. Now."

"If I may, madam; now is hardly the time to be worrying about cutting Sam's beard." Thomas replied, knowing he was treading on thin ice. Toni turned furious eyes on him.

"Jake Jenkins is coming. I cannot have him seen like that. Sort it. Now. And sedate him. I don't want him waking up during this visit."

"Madam, if I sedate him, it could kill him" Thomas protested. Toni narrowed her eyes.

"If you don't sedate him, Thomas, _I_ will kill _you_. Am I clear?"

Thomas bowed his head, regret blooming inside him. He knew better than to argue. "Yes, madam."

oOo

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

Each ring of the phone seemed to last a lifetime. Dean hated doing long distance calls. Hated them even more when they were to people that he didn't know. With each extended ring, he could feel his heart thumping harder in his chest. _C'mon. Pick up._

He waited.

The line clicked on.

"Aye up?" the voice was thick with a strange accent Dean hadn't come across before. It threw him; the guy didn't sound posh at all.

"Err…hi? Harold Knight?" Dean asked, hesitantly.

"Depends. Who's askin'?" the man replied, his tone suspicious.

"Dean. Dean Winchester. I'm a friend of Garth's."

"Oh aye! He'd said you'd call. Who'd a thought that little bugger was still goin'. I'd have thought he'd have popped 'is clogs years ago" Harold laughed. Dean was completely taken aback. What the hell was he on about? "I always figured he'd get hisself killed. Glad he ain't. But that's beside t'point. What can I do for yer, Dean?"

"I'm lookin' for my brother, Sam. He got taken just over three months ago and I haven't been able to find him. I've tried every connection I got and still got practically nothin'. The only two things I do know is that Sam was taken by a woman with a British accent and that the blood trail I've been tryin' to follow is blocked on the computer by a virus comin' from England."

"Ah bad job, mate. Not surprised yer flummoxed," Harold remarked, his jovial tone disappearing. "British accent y'say? Posh, like?"

"Yeah. Not like yours. Not that I'm sayin' that you're not posh" Dean babbled, feeling his cheeks heat the more he stuck his foot in his mouth. Harold laughed.

"Y'alreet, mate; I ain't posh – Yorkshire born'n'bred. Bugger me, never bin called posh in all me life. If she's a posh lass, she'll be from somewhere down south. Chuffy lot them southerners. What was that last bit you were on about?"

"The virus?"

"Aye."

Dean explained the blood, how they'd tried to get it tested and the virus in the system it'd caused. Harold listening throughout, occasionally asking the occasional clarifying question. He clicked his tongue when Dean was finished. "Bugger me, that sounds like a reet fancy-ass system. Never heard of anythin' like it."

"You've never heard any kind of rumours? Anything that could do something like that?" Dean pressed, feeling the hope that had once sprung forth, starting to wither inside him. Harold blew out a breath.

"Been huntin' a long time over 'ere, lad and there's nowt like that in the huntin' circuit. But there have bin some chuntering – mutterings – 'bout some secret society."

"What kind of secret society?"

"Summat like a group of addled lads who couldn't stick t'huntin' like rest o'us. Too good fer it. Some say they just spend all their time readin' and learnin'. Load of ol' tosh if yer ask me. Never met one, never met anyone who has. But iffen they are real, I'd bet they'd have summat to do wi' it. Sorry, that ain't much help."

All the while Harold was talking, Dean stopped breathing, his eyes widening. He blinked as if from a trance when he stopped.

"Harold, you've been more help than you think" Dean replied, excitedly.

"Oh aye? Well that's alreet then. Y'need owt else, you give us a bell, aye?"

"Definitely, thanks!" Dean assured him, hanging up. "CAS!" he shouted, running out of the library, looking for the angel, phone still in hand.

He knew who they were.

Men of Letters.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Thomas finished wiping the last of the water from Sam's face with a soft towel. The hunter was once again clean shaven, the hollows in his cheeks now even more evident. He'd cleaned him up as best as he could, sedating him with the weakest drug he could in order to appease Toni. She had been flitting in and out of the room, dressing it with tomes and notebooks, pens, everything she could think of. They had removed the cuffs from around Sam's wrists, laying his arms out over the thin sheet that covered him. He was still sweating and pale but Toni was satisfied.

A sharp ring echoed through the house. Toni shot Thomas a look.

"Not a word. Do you understand?" He nodded as she disappeared. Taking the bowl he'd used to shave Sam's beard of, he put it in the adjoining bathroom before going back to Sam's side, turning the cold compress on his forehead, hoping that he was through the worst of the fever. Voices sounded downstairs, followed by the thumping of footsteps.

"…It's not an ideal time to see him, I'm afraid" Toni's voice grew louder as it got closer.

"Needs must, Toni; you know that. Jonathan wanted me to see him and so I must" a mild tone replied, not unkindly. Toni opened the door, showing Jake Jenkins in. He had the same soft blonde features as his great uncle, Peter, one of the founding members of the American chapter. His face was open and honest, but carried a severity around the edges of his eyes. He was not a man to be made a fool of. He frowned as he entered, his eyes instantly landing on Sam's prone form. "What happened?"

"As I said – not an ideal time Jake. Unfortunately, Thomas has been forced to sedate Sam. He's been riding out a fever for the last twenty-four hours. It's been touch and go at several points. I'm sorry that you won't be able to speak to him but I can show you what we've been working on" Toni explained, gesturing towards the desk beneath the window. Jake ignored her and stepped towards the bed.

"He looks terrible. What caused the fever?" he asked. Toni's gaze flickered to Thomas' quickly, a warning hidden in them. She would deal with it, not him. She smiled briefly at Jake.

"Sam has been pushing himself too hard lately; he's been exhausted. We've done so much work on classifications that he wanted a change. He insisted on trying out some of the arcane spells we have. I did try to tell him that he wasn't ready but he insisted. Sam is still rather stubborn. He was attempting a fire spell two days ago and it backfired – literally. He got several rather nasty burns so Thomas treated them and we thought he was fine. When I called for him for dinner last night, he didn't come down. Thomas and I found him in bed; one of the burns had got infected. But it's alright; Thomas assures me that he thinks Sam's fever is nearly broken. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, madam." Thomas replied quietly.

"You're quite certain?" Jake asked, his tone hesitant. Toni snaked her arm through his and smiled at him brightly.

"Of course. Thomas is giving him the best care. He'll be back to his studies in no time. Hopefully with a bit more caution when it comes to magic though," she laughed, pulling Jake away. "Now, why don't I get Anna to make us some tea and I'll explain everything Sam has been focusing on?"

Thomas watched the pair go, shaking his head slowly. Wringing out another cloth, he replaced the warm one from Sam's forehead.

If only they knew.

oOo

 **I had so much fun writing this!**

 **I apologise profusely to anyone from Yorkshire who I may have insulted with my attempt to write in the Yorkshire dialect!**

 **Please review!**


	12. Best Laid Plans

**I'm really pleased that I didn't insult anyone and actually made a few of you laugh with my (cheesy) Brit writing! As a Brit myself, I despair at the 'poshness' of us; we don't sound like that! I'm glad that so many of you liked Harold; it's always hard inserting OCs because you never know how people will take them.**

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Jake sat rigidly on Toni's plush cream sofa, his back ramrod straight, feet firmly planted on the floor. He was surrounded by notes and documents; ledgers full of carefully written articles, tomes and files. A leather briefcase was open on the coffee table in front of him, his own note book on his lap. Toni sat across from him, directing him to different sources, her legs crossed and her usual tea cup cradled in her hand. She sighed and sat back, a sad smile on her lips.

"It was such a shame, really; I told Sam the news about Dean and, naturally, he was over the moon. Nothing I've said or done has consoled him about the death of his brother. Just before the accident, he was so revitalised; I've never seen him so alive. I really hope that he's better for when Dean arrives; nothing would please me more."

Jake nodded, finally putting the lid back onto his pen carefully and shutting his notebook.

"I have to say, Toni: your reports haven't done you justice at all. The progress you've made with Sam – the amount he has done – is really quite astounding. The council always knew that he was the more academic of the brothers but I, for one, never expected anything like this from a hunter. Jonathan will be most pleased. I can't imagine it will be too long before Sam will be sitting in on council meetings and start actively contributing to the Men of Letters properly." Toni smiled sweetly, blushing her gratitude. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. Idiotic man. He was as blind – and stupid – as the rest of them. No wonder the Men of Letters were a dying breed; she was surrounded by incompetency.

"Is there anything else you'd like to see before you go?" she offered, rising with him as he shut his briefcase and stood. Smiling, he shook his head.

"Not at all. I'm sorry for the lateness of the visit. Keep up the excellent work" he replied as he walked towards the door. She scowled at the patronising nature of his remark. She was far superior to him.

"Oh don't worry; I have great plans for Sam," she grinned, holding the door open for him. "And Dean."

oOo

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

"I can't believe I didn't see it. How could I have missed it for so long?" Dean groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Castiel had coming running when he'd shouted and they'd spent the afternoon pouring over all the notes they'd made over the last three months. Now that he could see it, it was as clear as day.

And Dean was kicking himself.

"It's not your fault, Dean," Cas tried to reassure him. "The Men of Letters are an extinct entity in this country. Even Eileen, that woman you met in Oak Park, never mentioned a functioning chapter and, coming from Ireland, she was more likely to have gathered information through her hunter connections. It's interesting that they knew about you and Sam without you knowing of their existence. I would have thought that they would have wanted to establish a working relationship between the two chapters."

"That's it though isn't it? First off, why didn't they contact us? Then why expel you and hurt Sam? If Sam honestly thinks I'm dead, I can maybe see why he hasn't been in contact although I would've thought he'd contact you. Yet you've heard nothing from him."

"Sam hasn't prayed since he's been gone" Cas confirmed. That statement was worrying enough in itself. Sam had always relied on his faith and meeting God had only strengthened it. For him to not pray at all, to not reach out to the angel, was concerning to say the least.

"Okay and then the last bit: why is some guy tryin' to track me, using a disguise and murderin' the people tryin' to help? That don't sound like the Men of Letters at all. They're meant to be all research monkeys not frickin' assassins. Why not just come and talk to me?"

"I don't know."

Dean picked up his beer bottle, taking a long mouthful from it. The cool liquid quietened the singing in his nerves, the restlessness that was building up again. The revelation had seemed so… _easy_ at first. Questions: answered. Sam's location: nearly pinpointed. Yet that was only a tiny percentage of the picture. Now, it seemed, the questions got more complicated and, with them, the answers more distant than ever. It was strange; at the thought of the Men of Letters being responsible, a wave of relief had hit Dean. No monsters involved, just the good guys.

Sammy was safe.

At least, he had thought so. Now, he wasn't sure.

"Cas, what does this really mean? Do you think Sam is safe?" Dean looked across the table at his friend, wishing that for once the angel would lie to him. Instead, Cas stared back, searching the hunter's face, a stern set to the line of his mouth.

"I don't know, Dean. What does your gut tell you?"

"That we need to get Sam the hell outta dodge. Somethin' ain't right and it scares the shit outta me. More than if this was some kinda monster."

"What do you want to do?"

"We need to draw this guy out. I need to know what he wants."

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Weariness tugged gently at him, stretching its tendrils through his mind as it tried to pull him under again. There was darkness beyond his eyelids; there was no light flickering, showing the tiny red capillaries that webbed under his skin. Easing open his leaden eyes, Sam blinked slowly, waiting for the black room to come into focus. Dark lumps of furniture were dotted around the room, casting shadows against the moonlight that poured in through a window to his left.

Moonlight.

Sky.

Two things he hadn't seen in how many months? He wasn't in his cell. Where the hell was he? When did he get here?

He was so tired…

No, he needed to concentrate; something was different. What had happened? He remembered Toni, remember the blowtorch then…nothing until he'd woken with a searing pain in his stomach. Thomas' face flashed in his mind; the man had helped him. At least, Sam assumed he had. He moved to try and lift his shirt, but his arm didn't respond. Lifting his head, he tugged on both limbs gently, recognising the feel of soft linings of medical cuffs, the kind that were fastened to a strap across the mattress. Moving his feet revealed similar resistance. Sam lay back, mentally trying to take stock.

The fierce burning that had shot through him, feverish and hellish, when he'd last been conscious was gone, replaced by a dull ache in his bones. It was tiring and heavy, stretching throughout his whole body. There was a tightness in the skin on his stomach and his chest was sore like he had been coughing too much. Sam expected those things. What he didn't expect was the feel of soft pillows cradling his head or the blanket covering him. It's been a long time since Toni had given him access to such luxuries.

Looking around again, he fought the urge to sleep, a sense of urgency creeping in. The silvery moonlight cast glowing pools on an empty desk under the window and over shelves that were lined with books from floor to ceiling. A wardrobe stood against the wall opposite him and there were two doors, both shut. Next to his bed there was a metal pole, a nearly empty bag dangling from it, a clear tube running down to his left hand. Staring down at where the tube entered darkness, Sam became aware of the discomfort he associated with having a needle in the back of his hand. He also realised that the left cuff felt a lot tighter on his left wrist than his right. Thomas had obviously thought he would yank his hand and dislodge the cannula. Flexing his right hand, the hunter gave it an experimental wiggle. The cuff slipped ever so slightly.

A creak sounded from outside of his door. Sam relaxed, letting his eyes slide closed.

oOo

Thomas shuffled in without turning the light on. The room was quiet – as he expected. His slippers made soft brushing noises over the carpet as he approached his patient. Sam's fever had finally broken around midnight, the hunter falling into a restful sleep. Thomas had stayed with him until then, afraid that the sedative would do the harm he'd envisaged. He wouldn't know until Sam woke up and there was nothing more he could do so he'd retired to his own bed. Glancing at the IV stand, he saw that the bag was nearly empty. Moving over to a cabinet, Thomas removed another and set about hooking up the new one. He glanced down at Sam, noting the loss of sheen from his skin. That was a good sign; it wasn't a warm night and a sweat would've signified the Winchester getting worse again. Sliding his fingers across the inside of Sam's wrist, he took his pulse. It was slightly elevated, bordering erratic but Thomas expected it. Sam wasn't out of the woods yet – not by a long shot. Satisfied, he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

oOo

Sam lay there, keeping his eyes closed for a few minutes, resisting the urge to sleep. He opened one eye, looking out through his eyelashes to check that Thomas had gone. He was alone. Twisting his right wrist weakly, he pulled and tugged, folding his thumb into his palm as much as he could. Grunting with the effort, he persisted, feeling his temperature rise as he struggled. With one last tug, he pulled his hand free of the restraint. Panting, he clumsily grappled with the strap on his left wrist, undoing it and sitting up. Carefully, he pulled the cannula out of his skin, dropping it over the side of the bed. Heaving himself down the bed, he pushed back the blanket and undid the cuffs around his ankles. Finally, he sat there, exhausted. His head thrummed and stomach pulsed as he fought waves of nausea that washed over him.

This was his only chance though; he wasn't going to miss it. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Sam stood shakily to his feet and lurched towards the wardrobe. Pulling the doors open quietly, he looked for something he could use. A black trench coat hung to one side; he pulled it out and slipped it on over his white shirt. There was nothing else though – no jeans, no shoes. He'd manage. He always did. Dean's voice echoed in his head.

 _You're Sam Fucking Winchester. C'mon!_

Dean was right; he might be dead, but he'd be pissed if Sam didn't at least try to get away. While he might deserve everything he was getting, he couldn't take much more of it.

Stumbling towards the window, he looked out.

It was now or never.

oOo

 **Lebanon, Kansas**

"This is a terrible plan. I do not like this plan at all." Castiel's gravelly tone echoed around the bunker's garage as Dean loaded his supplies into the Impala's trunk. He stood with his arms crossed beside the car, his glare fixed on Dean. The hunter rolled his eyes, slamming the lid shut.

"If you've got a better idea, Cas, I'm all ears."

"Wouldn't it be better if we captured him?"

"Look, do you really think this guy sounds like he's gonna spill everythin' his knows to a legacy and an angel? If he was one of the good guys, he'd have done that by now. I don't trust him but we need to see what his end game is. And to find that out, I need to play bait." Dean ranted as he slid into the driver's seat, Cas taking Sam's spot. The engine roared to life, thundering through the enclosed space.

"How do you even know he'll show?" Cas asked, still unconvinced. Dean gave a mirthless smile as he guided the Impala out onto the road.

"If he's followin' me, I reckon there's a tracker somewhere on Baby or he has access to the GPS on my phone. It's the kinda thing l'd do. We just need to go somewhere where I'll be an easy target. Cas, it'll be fine, trust me."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I have to believe it." Dean replied quietly, his grip tightening on the wheel.

 _I'm coming for you, Sammy. Hang in there._

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

The night air was biting even through the trench coat that swaddled him down to his knees. Getting down from the first floor had been exhausting and painful; he'd managed to slip along the canopy and climb down a trellis but he'd lost his grip near the bottom, falling the remaining few feet. The drop had winded him, a ragged gasp escaping his burning lungs. Sam had laid there, longer than he should have, unable to move despite how much his mind told him to run. Eventually he'd rolled over and dragged himself along the ground, heading for a small copse of trees at the back of the garden. The ground was wet and cold beneath his bare feet, stones digging into the soft flesh. His breath plumed in white puffs that floated gently into the night. Try as he might, Sam couldn't quieten his ragged breathing that wheezed from his chest with each agonising step. He reached the tree line, trembling fingers grasping at the rough bark of an oak tree, propping himself up. Stopping here wasn't an option. They could see him if they were looking. Pushing himself away from the tree, he stumbling into the small wooded area, concealing himself from the house.

oOo

 **US-281, Lebanon, Kansas**

Dean closed the door of the Impala, turning to face Castiel, his expression grim. Evening had fallen, leaving them in darkness on the edge of the woods, the Impala hidden amongst the trees.

"Whatever happens, Cas, you _have_ to stick to the plan alright? It'll work. Trust me."

"I do trust you Dean. That's not the problem" the angel grumbled. "I will do as you ask though."

Dean nodded. He pulled the angel into a hug, holding him tight. "Do your thing" he instructed when he let go. Castiel nodded once and disappeared. He didn't know if it was a real sensation or not, but Dean swore he could still sense Cas, even when he wasn't visible. Knowing that the angel had his back was a comfort Dean needed right now. More than ever, the hunter wished Cas had his wings back. But most 'mojo' back was better than none.

Walking into the woods, Dean went to wait.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Anna knocked softly on Thomas' door, her bony fingers rapping quietly against the wooden panel. She stepped back, wrapping her dressing gown tighter around her waist, her arms crossed. Thomas cracked his door open, peering out.

"Anna, are you alright?" he whispered, blinking in the glow of the hallway light. The housemaid nodded.

"One of the motion detectors in the back garden has been triggered" she explained. "I didn't want to alarm milady if there wasn't just cause."

"No, quite right. Let's go and check the monitors. Give me a moment." Thomas closed his door briefly before stepping out, wrapping his own gown around his waist. The pair made their way silently down the hall to the room next to Toni's office. Thomas produced a key from his robe, holding the door open for Anna.

oOo

 **US-281, Lebanon, Kansas**

The burning blossomed from his aching lungs, spreading its tendrils through his veins. He couldn't keep this up. Couldn't suck in the air he needed fast enough. Blood roared. Fear chilled, wrapping his gut in a cloying decay of ice that mixed with the fire, creating a new kind of agony. This _had_ to work.

His legs kept pumping, driving him further. His heart smashed against his aching ribs. It was worse than it had felt when he'd been electrocuted all those years ago.

He just needed to last a little longer.

Darkness shrouded the area with only dim slivers of moonlight flooding between the breaks in the canopy of leaves above. A thin branch whipped and sliced into his cheek, precise as a papercut and just as deep. He ignored the warm sensation of blood pooling instantly in the area, dribbling down his smooth cheek.

A loud crack – like gunfire – sounded behind him. The primitive part of his brain registered that that was exactly what it was; the sound of the Hunter becoming the prey. Panic tried to pool in his gut, clawing through the numbing ice. Dean wanted to stop – oh God he couldn't explain how much he wanted to stop, to hide. Cas had been right; this was a stupid plan.

Another crack.

He stumbled blindly over a fallen branch, landing clumsily on his hands and knees on the soft, mulchy earth. Mud oozed between his fingers as he hauled his body upright, cold seeping through wet patches on the knees of his jeans.

Nearly there.

He could make it; he had to. Another echoing crack launched him forward, renewing his energy. He pushed back the burning, the aching, the bubbling panic. He pushed through the edge of the treeline, into the clearing.

And stopped.

Castiel would be here. It was where he said he would be. Looking quickly around him, Dean hesitated, wanting to reach for the gun in the back of his jeans but he resisted. Instead, he turned, waiting for the sound of his assailant. He felt his heart begin to slow, adrenaline pumping hot in his veins.

This was his chance to get to Sam and nothing was going to stop him.

Gradually, a figure emerged from the treeline. He didn't run; he walked, slowly, carefully. A rifle was balanced in his hands, raised and aimed directly at Dean. He was broad and imposing, the complete opposite of the old man Dean had met a few days ago. Moonlight flickered off of his blonde hair, his eyes narrowed and staring down the barrel of the rifle.

Dean raised his hands in a sign of surrender. The man stopped a few metres away.

"Who are you?" Dean barked, his voice ringing around the clearing. The man smirked, grip tightening on the gun.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Tripping on a concealed tree branch, Sam hit the ground hard, landing on his hands and knees. His whole body shook, completely spent. The small copse hadn't been that big, but he was in no shape to be traipsing around the woods at night. His hands were scraped and his feet stung; he'd stood on a fair number of jagged rocks and brambles. Crouching on the ground, the hunter stayed there, sobbing quietly with exertion. Raising his head, hair flopping into his eyes, he couldn't believe it. Lifting his head higher, he gazed up at the red brick wall in front of him.

"No" he whispered, voice broken. How the hell was he going to scale that? Already he could begin to see colour in the dark world; the sun was coming up. If he had any chance of getting out of this, of finding help, he _had_ to get over that wall. Struggling to his feet, he clung onto a tree as he looked around, trying to work out his options.

oOo

 **US-281, Lebanon, Kansas**

"Who are you?" Dean repeated, shifting his weight between his feet. This really was a bad plan. Again, the man said nothing, just stood there watching him. What was he waiting for? "Look, I know you're a Man of Letters," Dean tried a different tactic, satisfied to see a flicker of shock appear on the man's face. "What do you want?"

"Let's try something different, Dean Winchester. You stop asking me inane questions and I won't shoot you." Dean blinked, surprised by the venom in his tone.

"You ain't gonna shoot me; you would've done it already" Dean retorted. James smirked, lowering his rifle and pulling the trigger. Dean yelped in surprise more than pain as a bullet grazed his calf. He dropped to his knees, hand clutching the wound. He glared up at James. "You son of a bitch!"

"Funny: Sam did the same thing. Look, I don't miss and I don't make idle threats. You'll do well to remember that. Now, either we do this with your cooperation or without it. I'm not fussed either way" James responded, moving closer, but staying out of reach of Dean. The hunter looked around him, relieved that Cas hadn't appeared; he was doing what he'd asked. Good. He glared up at James but said nothing, warring between defiance and submission. Keeping one hand on the rifle, James dug into his pocket with the other, throwing a pair of heavy duty plastic cable tie handcuffs at Dean. "Put those around your wrists behind your back. Don't make me say it twice" he instructed. The Winchester did as he was told, sliding his fingers, slick with blood, through the plastic loops. James moved around him, keeping the rifle trained on him as he pulled the cord on one wrist and then the other, tightening them. Only when he'd pulled both, did he put the gun down and yank on them again, satisfied by Dean's hiss of pain.

Pulling two cloths from another pocket, he yanked Dean's head back, stuffing one in his mouth before securing it tightly in place with the other. Dean groaned deep in his throat, struggling against the rough treatment as James tied it behind his head but to no avail. James yanked him to his feet, gripping his upper arm in an iron grip and pulling him along.

"I would apologise, but I do hate inane questions – nearly as much as I hate hunters – and you're the type of guy who won't stop asking them if I let you. Time for a small trip. Hope you don't mind flying." James grinned, setting a quick pace as Dean limped beside him. He moaned, the sound muffled by the gag.

Why did it have to involve a plane?

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

The sound of crashing footsteps came floating through the air to Sam. He panicked, looking around him wildly. He'd made it to the top of the wall, even though it had felt like it'd taken him hours, using a nearby tree to climb and then scoot across a branch onto the wall. Now he was perched up the top with a view of both sides. Problem was, there was nothing to climb down with.

"Crap" he mumbled, resolving himself. He'd have to jump; there were no other options other than to get caught and he couldn't risk it. As he lifted his leg over the side of the wall, he glimpsed a woman he didn't know breaking through the line of trees in the backyard.

Sam pushed himself off.

He landed with a thump, legs crumpling beneath him. He couldn't stay. Had to move. Now. Scrambling to his feet, he lurched forward, movements uncoordinated. Tripping once, the hunter pulled himself up again, trying to run. In the bluish dawn light, he could see a park up ahead. A park meant people. There were always people up and running at dawn – he used to do it. If he could just get there…

Something hit him hard from behind, knocking Sam to the ground. Fighting and twisting, he turned to see Thomas on top of him, his expression grim, jaw set. Sam grappled with him, trying to flip him off of him.

"Come on Sam, please don't make this difficult" Thomas chided, fighting to catch a hold of the Winchester's hands. He caught one, wincing when Sam tore at his grip with the other. Thomas grabbed that one too, holding both in one hand. Still Sam fought, weak as he was.

"Thomas, please," Sam implored, eyes widening when Thomas pulled a cable tie from his pocket and tried to loop it over Sam's wrists. The hunter wrenched again, managing to break one hand free. He swung up at Thomas, clubbing him in the side of the face. Momentarily dazed, the man let go, giving Sam enough time to scramble out from under him. But not enough time to get to his feet properly.

Thomas yanked him down again, kneeling in the centre of his back, wincing at the cry of agony from Sam as his burn was pressed into the ground. The pain was just enough to give Thomas the edge he needed. He got a hold of Sam's wrists again, pulling them behind his back. Sam writhed behind him. "Thomas, you don't need to do this. Please," Sam whimpered as he felt the cable tie snare his wrists. "You've seen what she's done to me. You've always been good to me. Please. Let me go."

Thomas sighed as he climbed off of the Winchester, pulling him gently up. The poor kid was trembling with exertion, barely able to stand.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I can only imagine what you're going through."

"Then _please_. Don't take me back in there" Sam sobbed, his eyes pleading.

"You were loyal to your brother, Dean, yes? Of course you were. The same goes for me and Miss Toni, Sam. I'm sorry. I don't have a choice" he explained, tugging Sam by the arm. Sam resisted, shaking his head.

"You do have a choice!"

Thomas stopped and looked at Sam, eyes narrowing.

"Look, Anna fetched me and not Toni. She doesn't know you escaped. I can only imagine her wrath if she finds out. We're going to go back, nice and civilly and she won't know. I will give you my word, Sam" he offered. Again, he pulled on Sam's arm. Still the hunter resisted. He looked back towards the park, hair whipping around as his panic rose.

"SOMEONE HELP ME!" Sam shouted, mustering as much volume as he could, voice echoing across the open space. "Someone-" His second shout was cut off as Thomas' hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him.

"Sam, you are making this unnecessarily difficult" Thomas reprimanded him, holding the Winchester still with one hand as he reached into his pocket with the other. Sam continued to buck under his hand, yanking his head, trying to break free as Thomas used his teeth to tear off a strip from the duct tape in his pocket. Removing his hand quickly, he slapped the tape over Sam's mouth, preventing any further cries for help. Putting the tape away, he wrenched on Sam's arm again, this time without the gentleness, dragging his captive back towards the house.

Why did Sam have to make things difficult?

oOo

 **Gosh, that got intense! Please review!**


	13. Cornered

**Apologies for the late arrival, the dreaded autumnal germs got me! My brain has barely functioned let alone managed to compute anything half decent for this.**

oOo

 **US-136, Nebraska**

Castiel's grip on the steering wheel was iron-tight, the pale white of his knuckles almost luminous in the dark interior of the car. He felt odd, sitting in the driver's seat. This was Dean's place. The Impala itself was just a machine, but the angel had come to realise, many years ago, that an object's worth was not based on its worldly value. He had come to cherish Baby, as the Winchesters did, for all it had given them. Theoretically, it would have been a better idea to ride, undetected, in the Chevrolet Sonic with Dean and the unknown man. Yet Cas couldn't leave the Impala in the middle of nowhere. They hadn't bargained on Dean leaving the state, let alone the country. Now the angel was left driving, lights off, following at a distance.

The urge to intervene in the clearing had been overwhelming; Castiel had only managed to rein in his anger because he had sworn not to reveal himself, to get involved. It was an oath he was now regretting. Watching Dean get shot, restrained and hauled off was more than the angel could stand. If getting to Sam hadn't been their end game, the dark haired man would already be a burnt-out husk on the ground. His people skills may not have been the best, but Cas was certainly capable of reading a human. In fact, ever since the soulless incident many years before, he had made it a personal mission to be able to spot certain anomalies and personality traits that could be a cause for concern in their cases. And what Castiel could see in the mystery Man of Letters was, to be frank, chilling. He was as close to soulless as a human could get without actually losing it in the first place. Ironically, he was almost angelic: how Cas had been before meeting the Winchesters. Devoid of any semblance of empathy, he had orders and he followed them to the letter. Cas hoped that Dean didn't do anything stupid; the only reason he seemed to be alive was because someone wanted him to be.

The Chevrolet Sonic ahead of him slowed, brake lights glaring in the darkness. It had driven at a perfectly normal speed for the whole hour – never missing a stop sign, never failing to indicate. He was in no rush and therefore wasn't going to risk drawing attention to himself. Cas eased off of the accelerator, letting the Impala's roar die down to a deep grumbling as he approached, using the Sonic's headlights as his guide. The car moved off again, over the junction, down a small dirt road opposite. Cas frowned; the US-136 ended, becoming the NE-14 to the left and right but not straight ahead. What was down there?

Peering into the darkness, Castiel saw the outline of a pale building set just to the left of the dirt track. Tall black fir trees stood around it, protecting it from the wind. The rest of the area was completely flat. Driving cautiously forwards, the angel edged down the dirt track, turning into the driveway of the building. It looked almost like a church with the same single story structure and long portrait windows lining each wall. A smaller building sat beside it, built in a similar style with the same cream paintwork glowing faintly in the dark. Castiel trundled past it, heading for a small copse of trees just beyond. It seemed like a strange place for a church or communal building, but that didn't mean that it wasn't in regular use. The small cluster of trees wasn't exactly walking territory. Manoeuvring the Impala off of the track slowly, he entered the tiny copse, making sure that the car was far enough in to be concealed from the building. Killing the engine, the screech of the door echoed in the silence as he clambered out of the car. Opening the trunk, Cas lifted the cover and pulled out the Kurdish knife, sheathing it inside his trench coat next to his angel blade. Dean was going to need a weapon on the other side and there were few things the blade wasn't useful against. Collecting loose foliage, the angel made a quick job of concealing the car, hoping it would be enough until they got back.

Because they would come back.

Jogging down the track, Castiel was glad that his full powers had returned; this would've been a lot harder if he hadn't been able to conceal himself from humans. Granted having wings was vastly more helpful but, if there was one thing the angel knew, it was that you never got everything you wanted.

Up ahead, he could see giant floodlights glaring onto an open space next to a squat tower that had windows around each side with no walls between them. The lights were on within the control tower as well; the whole area was vibrant and yet…deserted. Cas slowed as he got closer, spying the Chevrolet Sonic parked near the control tower. The dark haired man was stood next to the car, talking to a second man. Cas got closer, tuning into their conversation.

"I'll see what I can do, James, but I don't think you'll be leaving much before dawn" the smaller man explained. He was stocky, stomach pressing against a creased blue shirt that had the logo 'Rempe Private Airfield' stitched in red across the left pocket. His thinning blonde hair was combed over in a poor attempt to hide the growing bald area on the top of his head. He looked up at James, a clear sense of unease rolling off of him; he didn't want to be the one to upset the thuggish-looking Man of Letters.

"Fine. I'm assuming you can still get us a clear flight to Lasham Airfield?" James sighed, folding his arms.

 _Lasham_.

Castiel slipped up beside the empty back passenger seat of the Sonic. The door was locked, but that was of little consequence to the angel. Silently, he unlocked it and slid in, muffling the sounds, keeping his eyes trained on James, who continued his conversation unawares, as Cas slid into the car.

Dean sat upright in the back, seatbelt on, green eyes trained on his captor through the windshield, clearly trying to listen into their conversation without much luck. Sliding a glance in the same direction, Cas was satisfied that James wasn't looking.

"Dean are you alright?" Cas whispered, materialising. The hunter jumped, grunting in surprise before he recognised Cas. He noticeably sagged in his seat, relieved. He nodded, still gagged. Castiel couldn't risk letting him go: alerting James to the angel's presence wasn't part of the plan. "I have the name of where he's taking you. Where is your phone?" Dean shifted, the angel starting to reach for his jeans' pocket. He growled and shook his head, nodding towards the front of the car. "James took it?" Dean nodded. "Does he have it on him?" Cas questioned. Dean shook his head and looked pointedly at the front of the car. The angel leaned forward between the two front seats, eyes searching. There was nothing in the centre console. Supporting himself on one hand, he opened the glovebox with the other. Dean's phone, lockpicks and key for the bunker all slid over as he pulled it open. Taking the phone, he sat back, scrolling through his contacts. Dean leaned over, his brows knitted together. Cas selected the number and copied it onto his own phone. He slid the phone back into the glovebox, giving Dean a grim smile. "I will get as much of a plan together as I can. I'll be with you but once we're boarded, I can't risk being seen." Cas reassured him. The hunter nodded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Every time he thought about the plane, he got nauseous. He watched as Cas flickered out of sight again.

The angel moved away from the car, disappearing further out into the darkness so that he could make the call undetected. He pressed send, lifted it to his ear and waited.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

"Sam, listen to me now, son," Thomas murmured softly in the hunter's ear. He pressed Sam up against the wall, one hand gripping the plastic tie around his wrists, the other hold him steady. "You need to calm down. There is nothing you can do. If you insist on your defiance, I will tell Miss Toni about your attempt to escape." The tension fell from Sam's shoulders as he finally admitted defeat. He'd tried. But what else could he do? Toni didn't need another reason to make his life hell.

"Thomas?" Both men looked towards the door as a boyish figured poked his head in. His eyes widened momentarily, taking in the scene; Thomas stood behind Sam, pressing him firmly against the wall, his cheek flat against the cold plaster. The shutters came down in the stranger's expression, blinking away the surprise as though it was a perfectly normal occurrence to see a six foot four bound and gagged hunter in the house. "Anna said you needed me."

"That would be perfect, thank you, Andrew. Sam here needs to be back in bed and I could use a hand." Thomas smiled apologetically. Pulling Sam gently away from the wall, Thomas steered him back towards the bed. "Grab some clean clothes out of there for me" he indicated the chest of drawers. Andrew hurried over, grabbing a clean set of white pyjamas. He put them on the foot of the bed as Thomas pulled a knife from his pocket, one hand still on Sam's arm. "We're going to do this with minimal fuss, alright, Sam? You can't stay in the clothes you're wearing; grass stains are a bit of a giveaway that you've been outside. I don't want to hurt you anymore than you want to hurt me. Do you understand?" Thomas explained, his tone still mild, like a parent reprimanding a naughty child. Sam nodded tiredly, glad that the man couldn't read his mind. He had no idea how much Sam _did_ want to hurt him right now.

Thomas cut the cable tie, releasing Sam's hands in one swift move. Working together, they stripped Sam of his muddied shirt and pants, quickly replacing them. Sam's cheeks burned with the humiliation of it; he was not a damned invalid. Between them, Thomas and Andrew made sure that he never had full use of both arms; they always had a hold of at least one of his wrists. They steered him back to the bed, helping him on. By now, Sam barely resisted. He was exhausted. The straps were wrapped back around his limbs, tightly this time. Thomas wasn't taking any more chances.

Sam had blown it.

Andrew slipped out quietly as Thomas thanked him. Sam moaned softly as the cannula was reinserted, screwing his eyes shut.

"Everything alright, Thomas?" They snapped back open at Toni's brusque tone. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, hair already perfectly coiffed.

"Yes, madam. His fever has broken" Thomas explained as he hooked up a new IV bag. Sam shifted uncomfortably under Toni's cold stare as she stalked over. She grabbed his chin, wrenching his head to the side. He groaned, squirming weakly under the rough treatment.

"Why have you gagged him?"

"He needs calm and I was concerned when he woke that he was going to start making a ruckus. I didn't want to sedate him again just yet." Toni's grip loosened as she swept her fingers back through Sam's hair, her touch almost motherly. He shied away, flinching involuntarily. Malice laced through everything she did; Sam couldn't stand the physical contact anymore.

"How long until he's ready for us to start again?" she asked, smiling softly as she caressed the side of his head, idly playing with the long strands of hair.

"He needs at least another day of rest just so that I can be sure he's stable" Thomas replied as he worked on replacing the gauze over the burn across Sam's stomach. It was still raw, but the inflamed redness surrounding it was gone, dulled to a warm pink.

"Good. I've missed our time together, Sam," she crooned, bringing her face down to the same level as his. A soft moan bubbled in Sam's throat when she nuzzled the side of his face. It was too intimate; yet another way that she took every ounce of privacy from him. "We didn't get to have half the discussion I wanted last time. It was disappointing. And you know how much I do hate being disappointed."

"We also need to do something about his diet if we're going to prevent this from happening again" Thomas stated, laying a fresh bandage on Sam's wound. Wide grey eyes slid to meet Toni's cold blue as she smirked down at Sam, finally releasing him.

"I'm sure we can come up with some arrangement" she replied, her grin slowly spreading.

oOo

 **North Atlantic Ocean**

It sucked. It was the worst plan he'd ever had. Cas had been completely right – not that Dean would admit that. He couldn't right now anyway, even if he wanted to. The initial nausea that came with flying had passed hours ago, settling into an uncomfortable sloshy sensation in the pit of his stomach. So far he'd sung the Master of Puppets, Ride the Lightning and Black albums all in his head in an attempt to calm himself. It hadn't really worked.

The flight itself had been completely uneventful. It was a small private jet, decked out with plush cream leather chairs, mahogany finishing and what Dean assumed was an excellent inflight bar. Not that he'd been privy to any of the perks. He was cramped and uncomfortable, his hands numb behind his back and he desperately wanted to stretch out his legs. He didn't know how close he was to Sam at that point; same seat, same restraints, same journey. James had anchored his feet down, attended to the bullet graze on his leg and then ignored him.

It'd been a long six hours.

The only real comfort was knowing that Castiel was there. He couldn't reveal himself but Dean knew he was there, vigilant, watchful. He wasn't alone and, for that, Dean was grateful. If he was, he didn't know what he'd do; things hadn't exactly gone as he'd expected. He'd planned on letting James take him but hadn't really thought about what that meant. The problem was, as usual, when it came to his brother, the hunter didn't think straight. He'd managed to get a lead and had gone at it with the single-minded focus that he always did. The only reason there had been any sense of a plan in the first place was because of the angel. Even that plan was loose; it had to be when it was nigh on impossible to guess what your opponent was going to do.

Dean just hoped that Cas' updated plan was better.

oOo

James was actually quite impressed. Dean seemed to evoke that feeling a lot. It was probably why James felt the need to be so thorough with the hunter. He had watched the slight sheen of sweat on his brow, the panicked, deer in the headlights, look as they'd taken off, the vestiges having lingered for the whole flight. Dean hadn't slept – hadn't tried to. Clearly flying was not a comfortable experience for the hunter. James was going to sedate him – as they'd done with Sam – but when he realised that little gem of information about Dean, he didn't bother. The hunter needed to learn his place.

Being in control was not it.

The stewardess popped her head around the corner, giving him a brief nod. James smiled at her, reaching for his seatbelt to buckle up. Dean's gaze slid in his direction, his body tensing as he wriggled in his seat. Landings weren't a high point for him either. There was something infinitely satisfying about seeing the proud hunter squirm at something so trivial.

James' ears popped as the plane slowly began its descent, the pressuring building and releasing in waves. It felt good to be close to home again; James detested the vulgar uncouth nature of America. He couldn't really blame the Winchesters for being such savages; most Americans seemed to be. Even the few English hunters he'd met had been better than the Neanderthal hunters from across the pond.

It didn't take long before they bumped and juddered across the runway, the force of the breaking pulling the occupants forwards in their seats. James pressed back, weathering the pressure. He smirked across at Dean who had his eyes clenched shut, his chest heaving. Finally, it eased; the plane slowing to a crawl as it swung around towards the squat buildings at the end of the runway. The Man of Letters unbuckled his belt and rose, towering above the Winchester.

"Welcome to the civilised country" he grinned, bending down to undo the chain that tethered Dean to the floor. He loosened the shackles from around his ankles, stepping back when Dean stretched his legs, the joints cracking painfully. The aircraft crew worked around him, removing bags from the storage lockers and opening the doors. All of them ignored Dean as James hoisted him out of his seat, holding him steady as he swayed, a groan escaping his throat. He pulled Dean towards the door, his grip tight on his arm, waiting to haul him up if he stumbled. They shuffled towards the door, James going first down the stairs.

Outside the early evening was darkened with a steady rain that splattered onto the ground in a fine spray, soaking both men almost instantly. A sleek black Land Rover rolled slowly across the tarmac towards them, its wipers gliding lazily over the windscreen. Dean blinked the rain from his eyes, watching the car with mounting dread. He hoped Cas knew what he was doing; he was soon going to be further into the backend of nowhere with no clue where he was or where he was going.

The SUV slowed to a stop, its driver sliding out. He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt open at the collar, tie missing. James frowned but said nothing.

"Alreet? Toni sent us to git ye" the driver greeted him, ignoring Dean whose head tilted, eyes narrowing. He opened the back door, holding it for James as he prodded Dean towards it. The hunter struggled up into the seat, twisting his body awkwardly with his hands bound behind him. James leaned across him, buckling the seatbelt, securing him in. Slamming the door shut, he stalked around the car. Through the tinted glass, Dean stared in surprise as the driver winked at him. What the hell?

The man turned away, climbing up into the driver's seat as James got into the passenger. The doors shut with a soft whump, blocking the sounds of the airfield beyond. The interior smelled like new leather, the scent heady and overpowering. Despite the car's size, it still felt incredibly claustrophobic; Dean was sick of his confinement. He couldn't wait to wrap his hands around James' throat. If this was how they'd treated Sam, there was going to be hell to pay. James would be first but the bitch who had his baby brother was going to wish she'd never heard of the name Winchester.

The hunter watched James, studying him as he shot another look at their driver. Dean tensed; something wasn't right.

As the driver moved to turn the ignition, James' hands shot up, his gun clenched in both hands, pointed straight at the older man.

"Who the fuck are you?" he barked, voice like steel. The driver turned his head, slowly grinning at the Man of Letters.

"The cavalry, lad." Harold smirked, a bright gleam in his eye, his smile widening as he stared down the barrel of the gun.

oOo

 **I hope you all enjoyed the premiere as much as I did – I definitely hated Toni (thought I'd got her fairly spot on!).**

 **Please review!**


	14. Shattered

**Thank you so much for all your kind reviews. You absolutely make my day! I'm glad you're enjoying this as much as I am writing it.**

 **Fair warning: this one gets pretty dark again.**

oOo

 _"Yesterday I died. Tomorrow's bleeding" – Shattered, Trading Yesterday_

oOo

 **Lasham Airfield, Hampshire**

Dean's shout was muffled by the cloth in his mouth. It was so frustrating! Why was Harold smiling? The idiot was going to get himself killed and then he would be no use. The hunter bucked in his seat, thrashing against the seat belt. He had to do something!

Castiel materialised beside him, the flash of silver streaking past Dean's face, arching around the headrest of James' seat. The angel blade pressed against the soft flesh of his throat; Cas' hand reaching up and snagging his hair, pulling his head back.

"Put the gun down" the angel snarled. James didn't move yet his glare deepened into a scowl. He hadn't expected this. Hadn't planned on it and the anger rolled off of him in waves. Cas yanked harder, the cold blade digging into his neck. "Put. It. Down." Cas spoke slowly, a thin dribble of blood sliding from beneath the weapon. "Believe me when I say you're expendable and you have no idea how much I'd like to finish you right now." The gun wavered, the moment hanging in the air.

James lowered the weapon, Harold snatching it from his grasp, pulling the cartridge out and pocketing it. He threw the gun in the side pocket of the car, Cas still keeping his hold tight on James.

"Y'alreet lads?" he greeted, turning to flash a grin at Cas and Dean. "We'd best get a move on afore that lot catch on that's summat's up. Lean forward, mate." He reached out a hand, pulling the cloth down from Dean's face and yanking the wadded cloth out of his mouth. Dean gasped, taking his first large gulp of air in hours.

"Thanks. Cuttin' it a bit fine don't y'think?" Dean asked, his voice croaky. Harold laughed, turning on the ignition.

"Gotta have a bit of excitement, ain't we? Boring else. I'll clear us outta here and then we'll sort you and him out proper" Harold explained as he pulled away, heading off of the runway and towards the gates.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

"How was school, honey?" The voice washed over him like a warm blanket, soothing and full of the feeling of home. Sam dropped his bag by the door, slipping his shoes off and padding through to the kitchen. Sunlight poured in through every window, setting the house aglow in gold.

"Hey Mom," he greeted, walking up to Mary Winchester as she stood by the island in the kitchen. Her hair caught the sunlight, a soft halo of light fanning out around her. Her grin was infectious as her youngest son came around the side of the counter. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, swatting at his hand when he reached for one of the still warm muffins she'd just baked and left to cool.

"Off! If I let you at them now, there'll be none left for your brother" she chided, waving her oven mitten at him, the frown on her brow softened by the smile that tugged at her lips. Sam pouted, crestfallen. Mary sighed. "Fine. One. And don't tell!" she conceded. The Winchester boy grinned and swiped the muffin from the work surface.

"Where is Dean?" he asked as he bit into the warm cake. God, they were so much better when they were warm.

"Down the auto yard with your dad and Bobby. They'll be back soon" she replied. Her eyes softened, her smile dropping, becoming sad. She reached a hand up and cupped Sam's face, her thumb brushing gently over his soft cheek. "I missed you today, Sammy."

Sam's hand rose up to cover hers, a faraway but familiar heartache spreading through him. "I missed you too."

oOo

The sound of clattering metal roused Sam, drawing him from the dream that had gripped him. It'd been months since he'd had his 'mom dream' and the comfort it brought was slowly fading into the heartache that always followed.

He jerked when he felt someone touch his face, his eyes snapping open. Thomas loomed over him.

"Shh. It's alright, Sam" he said in the same soothing tone that Sam had once found a mild comfort and now hated. Thomas was no better than Toni. The Man of Letters pulled at the corner of the duct tape that was still over Sam's mouth, pulling it off slowly and as gently as he could. Sam still winced as it pulled at his skin. Finally, it was off and Thomas throw it in a small bin to the side of the bed. Sam said nothing; he wasn't going to thank the man who had put him back in this predicament. Thomas picked up a glass from the table beside the bed, holding out the straw for him. Despite himself, Sam took it, drawing long sips of the cool liquid, feeling it flow deep his throat and spread through his torso. He hadn't realised how thirsty he'd been. The glass was soon empty and Thomas put it back on the table. He pulled up a high stool and sat beside Sam who watched him, expressionless.

"Now, Sam," he began, his eyes fixed on the hunter. "We need to address your attempts at starving yourself. Obviously we underestimated you and, personally, I think you did it because you knew eventually we'd have to bring you upstairs if you became unwell enough – which you have – and therefore could try and escape. Well, you tried. I can't really blame you; I suppose it was to be expected.

"But you failed. You barely got past the back wall although I do commend you for getting that far. Clearly we're not going to let that happen again. You missed your chance and I want you to accept that. Until you concede to Miss Toni's request, you will not leave here. I can't really be any clearer than that.

"Therefore, this hunger strike of yours needs to end. There are two options here, Sam, and I'm hoping you're going to be sensible." Sam shifted uncomfortably. He despised the way Thomas constantly repeated his name as though he was an errant child that needed disciplining. Thomas lifted the lid off of a tray, revealing a plate of roasted chicken and heaped with vegetables. "Your first option is to simply eat when we tell you to." Sam watched as he lifted the lid from a second tray. His stomach turned. All that sat on the tray was a jug of some pinkish liquid and a tube. "The second is that we do this the hard way and resort to rather unpleasant methods. I can assure you, Sam; I am perfectly able to accommodate either. Miss Toni thinks you need to learn your lesson and would prefer the second method but I thought I would give you the option."

Despair welled within the Winchester as he stared up at Thomas, horrified. What more could they possibly take from him? Thomas was right; his escape had failed and there was no way they were ever going to risk him getting loose again. The full weight of his captivity crashed over him, the last vestiges of hope he'd been clinging onto dissipating like smoke.

He had no allies here; no friends left who could find him. His family was dead and he was alone.

Thomas watched as the light finally died out in the hunter's hard grey eyes, their colour dark and sorrowful. Sam's gaze turned up, meeting his.

"I don't care. Not anymore" he whispered. Thomas smiled.

"Alright then" he replied, picking up the knife and fork from the plate of chicken. He carved off a mouthful and held it out to Sam who took it in his mouth and chewed automatically, the flavours ash on his tongue.

Nothing mattered anymore.

oOo

 **South Downs National Park, Outskirts of Alton, Hampshire**

Dean paced outside of the Land Rover, full of a newfound energy that needed burning. A part of him knew he needed rest, but his body was buzzing, needing to move after spending so many hours confined.

Harold had driven them to a quiet forest, taking the SUV off road and away from any curious public eyes. Despite his initial incredulity at the British hunter's flippant attitude, Dean had instantly warmed to him. He was older than the Winchester, closer to Bobby's age. His features were weather-beaten and rugged, telling of many years of long hunts, but his bright blue eyes held a permanent merriment that calmed Dean. Harold was no rookie and there was a steely air about him that Dean could tell meant that that easy-going nature could flip on a pinhead.

Both Castiel and Harold joined him around the front of the car; the angel keeping an eye on James who was left secured in the front seat. He glared out at the three of them, the set of his jaw stubborn.

"He hasn't said a word, Dean, but we did get these from his luggage" Cas explained, handing him a phone and a laptop. Dean set the laptop on the front of the SUV, switching it on as he looked at the phone. When he pressed the button, it lit up but didn't unlock. Peering closely at the button, he stalked around to the passenger door, wrenching it open.

"Out" he barked, yanking James by the arm. He stumbled, nearly falling from the car before Dean slammed him up against the other door. "Give me your thumb" he ordered, grappling with the Men of Letter's bound hands. James' fists clenched, tightening. Dean leaned in close to his ear, his voice a low growl. "You're standing between me and my brother and that means I will do whatever I need to to get to him. That includes breaking your thumbs if you don't cooperate. I think I owe you for that bullet graze anyway" he growled.

James said nothing and kept his fists balled behind him.

Dean reached his own thumbs into the gaps in James' fists, gouging as he hooked his fingers around the Man of Letter's thumb. Yanked. A deep hiss escaped James' lips as he jerked in pain, his thumb hanging limp. Dean grabbed it and pressed it against the button on the phone. It instantly unlocked. "You're lucky I guessed right first time. Could've been all your fingers" Dean remarked, voice hard and cold as he shoved James back into the car.

He flicked through the phone, removing its security settings before scrolling through it, noting one unread message from a T Bevell. He clicked on it.

 _Have you landed yet?_

His thumb hovered over the call button, stopping when Castiel laid a hand on his arm gently. He looked up.

"Dean you can't call them."

"Why not?"

"Think about it: they won't expect to hear you. They'll expect him," Cas nodded towards James, "and he certainly isn't going to call them for us. You don't want to force them to do something to Sam because we rushed."

"So what? We do nothing?" Dean snarled.

"No. We find out what we can and use it. We don't know where Sam is; that's what we need to find out first. But we also need time to work out our next move."

"If they don't get a reply from him, they're gonna know something's up" Dean retorted, his frustration mounting.

"Send them something that's going to buy us some time" Cas replied. Dean nodded, his fingers swiping quickly over the keys.

 _Landed. Need to stop over – problems with D. Will text with update later._

He hit send and pocketed the phone.

"So what now? How are we supposed to find where Sam is?"

They both turned when Harold cleared his throat. He'd moved behind the Land Rover, opening its rear door. They walked around and found a young man, probably no older than 25, lying unconscious in the back.

"Y'didn't think I was the original driver, did you? I'll bet this lad's a bit more chatty than t'other one, given the right persuasion" the hunter grinned. Dean clapped him on the shoulder, grinning.

"Harold, you're a genius! We need somewhere to hole up for a while – get ourselves sorted" he said, a sense of satisfaction spreading through him. They were getting so close now. It wouldn't be long.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

The door swung open to Sam's cell without ceremony. Toni stepped in, closing it behind her, making sure the automatic lock clicked before moving forwards. Sam watched her, his gaze shuttered before he turned his head to look back at the ceiling. Thomas had brought him back down an hour or so ago, praising Sam for his lack of fight as they descended back into his personal hell. He was still incredibly weak as it was but he just couldn't bring himself to be defiant. What was the point? There was so little left to fight for. What did he care if the world burned anymore?

"We've got some work to do tonight, Sam" Toni remarked as she closed in on him. She smiled down at him, brushing her fingers lightly against his arm. He didn't move, didn't react. Once again, he was strapped to the table, metal loops encasing his wrists and ankles. "But before we proceed, I want you to know that I'm not going to ask you to say yes. I can wait – I've waited for a long time and I don't think one more night is going to make much difference, do you?" Toni talked as she moved about the room, setting up what she needed. Sam continued to stare at the ceiling. "I do think there's a lesson that needs to be learned here today though. You disappointed me; you tried to escape." A flicker of a glance was her response; Sam's throat working furiously. She leaned down close to him, stroking his hair with one hand. "Thomas didn't tell me – he didn't have to. I _know_ you, Sam. Of course you were going to try to escape; I expected nothing less. I'm disappointed that your planning was so poor. Where was the usual Winchester pomp and ceremony?" She sounded genuinely disappointed. She pulled away from him. The harsh bursting roar made Sam wince; he knew that sound. Knew it too well.

"So tonight I'm going to teach you that lesson. You're going to learn it and then you're going to reflect on it." Toni lowered the sparking blue flame so that it missed Sam's skin but jetted against the metal cuff looping over his ankle. "You're going to think about all the people you could save when you say yes." The cuff grew warm. "You're going to think about how you can end this for both of us – just by uttering one tiny word." Despite himself, Sam twisted, trying to pull his skin away from the rapidly heating metal. "That's all I want Sam; that one little yes. And if you give me that, when you do say it, I'll tell you something you'll want to hear. But not tonight." He couldn't move away from it, couldn't stop the heat begin to transfer onto his skin.

A single tear slid from the corner of his eye as he stared up at the ceiling.

oOo

 **South Downs National Park, Hampshire**

Dean sat in the glow of the soft cabin lights. The scent of pine was heavy in the air, mixing with the warmth to give Dean more of a sense of home than he thought was possible when he was 4,500 miles away. Harold had proven himself invaluable: calling on his own hunter network to secure the cabin while they worked out their next move. James was secured in one of the bedrooms, Harold and Castiel in the other with the original driver. Dean had wanted to help interrogate, but Harold pointed out that he was probably the most useful with a computer. Usually he hated research but anything that was going to help now was worth looking into.

It wasn't like he would be able to keep his cool with the Man of Letters anyway.

He'd spent the last hour trying to hack into James' laptop, using as many of Charlie's techniques as he could remember. It was slow, frustrating work – the kind that Sam would be able to do in five minutes. He sat back, waiting for the latest algorithm to work. His knee bumped up and down continuously, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Patience was becoming less and less his virtue.

The line across the bottom of the screen flashed, the whole surface illuminating. Yes! Dean leaned forward eagerly, finally satisfied. He instantly started scanning through folders and files, looking for anything useful. He found several references to a Jonathan Markham – the apparent Head of the British Chapter – within several official looking documents. Other documents revealed another name: Toni Bevell.

He had a name.

It was another step closer. Coming out of that folder, another link caught Dean's eye. In the top left corner was a small icon labelled 'Camera 1'. Double clicking on it, a box popped up, filling the screen. At first it was black, the message 'connection establishing' flashing in the centre. It disappeared and a room came into focus. Far from being grainy, the picture was clear despite being in black and white. Dean frowned, leaning in closer. The camera was positioned in the corner, displaying a bright white room, empty except for a woman with a tight ponytail stood next to a table. Dean squinted, focusing on her. She had her back to the camera, but that wasn't what drew his attention. Someone was lying on the table, their movements small and jerking.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

His lungs burned with a fire unlike anything he'd felt before. It spread through each capillary, licking flames across each one as his chest shuddered, bucking and heaving frantically, trying to draw in the oxygen that his body was being starved of. His back pressed into the cold metal beneath him, patches not yet warmed by the heat of his skin.

Maybe he would die this time.

A choked moan escaped unbidden from his throat. Icy water rushed down either side of Sam's face, trickling through his hair. His limbs jerked involuntarily, wrists chafing against the metal loops that bit into the soft flesh.

But only one thing topped the fire and suffocating water.

It flared hotter, spread further, engulfing him. Even the trials hadn't scorched like this; he could still feel them licking fire through his veins whenever he thought about them.

Yet the burning in his lungs didn't consume him.

The weight lifted from his face, brushing cold air across his exposed, sodden skin. His lungs tried to draw in a breath but choked on the water clogging his throat. He threw it up in great mouthfuls, coughing and spluttering, turning his face to the side as he brought it all up before greedily replacing it with much needed oxygen.

But still the ache was there.

It was deeper than physical pain, more profound than anything he'd ever endured. It was a part of him; it would never leave. Never end. Not now. Even if he ceased to exist, he was sure the ache would still spread.

Toni's face loomed over him, smiling down at him. She dunked the cloth in the bucket again, taking her time. The ache, the despair spread through him.

 _I'm proud of us._

Dean wouldn't be proud anymore; he would be so disappointed in him. That knowledge burned through him, consumed him. This was it though. His big brother wasn't going to save him and he couldn't save himself. This was it; he couldn't do it anymore.

He looked up at Toni, lips trembling with cold, with fear of his own acceptance. Tears slid and mixed with the water.

"Please" he whimpered, his fight gone. Toni just smiled and put the soaking cloth back over his face, listening with satisfaction to the broken cries that escaped as he choked.

oOo

 **South Downs National Park, Hampshire**

 _"Please."_

Cas shot from the bedroom when a keening howl erupted from the other room. He raced in to find Dean stood, gripping the laptop, his face contorted in horror and anguish, the wail unlike anything the angel had ever heard.

"Dean! What's wrong?" Cas asked, his hand grabbing the hunter, falling to the floor with him when Dean's legs gave out. The computer slid onto the fall, Dean clutching at his arms as though he was trying to anchor himself. The keening became sobs, as Dean stared at the computer. Castiel tilted it, eyes scanning it to try and make sense of it.

He understood in an instant.

Watched Sam convulse as he started to drown. Listened to the choking noises and a woman's voice explaining that it was a 'lesson he needed to learn'. Cas slammed the laptop shut, pushing it away, grabbing Dean's face between both hands when the hunter reached for it. He shook him, calling his name until Dean's gaze slid to meet his.

"What've they done to him, Cas?" Dean whispered, his words choked.

"We're so close, Dean" the angel reassured him. There were no real words of comfort that he could offer. Dean shook his head, pulling away from him.

"We're not close _enough_ Cas. They're _killing_ him." He scrambled to his feet, rage pulsing through him as he stalked towards the other room, slamming the door open and charging towards James. He swung at the Man of Letters with everything he had, his fist cracking against his cheek. He felt bone crunch beneath the impact, but all he heard was the roar of blood in his ears.

"Is that what you've been doing to him this whole time?! WHERE IS HE?!" Dean roared, swinging a second time. A third. Blood spurted from James' nose, gushed from a cut on his cheek.

"Dean, STOP!" Cas shouted, grabbing the hunter from behind, wrapping his arms around him as he roared at the man in front of him. "This isn't helping!" The angel dragged him backwards, away from the unconscious Man of Letters.

"Let go, Cas!" Dean snarled, struggling against Cas' iron grip. "He's dead! D'you hear me? Human or not you and that bitch are gonna burn!"

oOo

 **That was so hard to write; I have to find a pretty dark head space to get there. Please let me know what you think!**


	15. Hammer's Coming Down

**A huge thank you to MJ Elsworth for all our discussions and your suggestions; they have truly been invaluable!**

 **Buckle in everyone; longest chapter so far!**

 **Now, I think it's about time you all (and the boys) started getting some answers, don't you?**

oOo

 _"Holding on, we'll make it to the dawn,_

 _it'll be here before long"_

 _\- The Hammer's Coming Down, Nickelback_

oOo

 **South Downs National Park, Hampshire**

Dean was frightening. The savage curl to his lip was feral and uncontrolled, his eyes flashing a raw fury unlike any Castiel had ever seen. Not even when he had been cursed with the Mark, rampaging after Charlie's death, had Cas been this agitated by his friend. Dean had nearly killed him that day.

The angel wasn't entirely convinced that he was particularly safe now.

"He knows where Sam is! And while you're stood there _protecting him_ , Sam is going through hell!" Dean snapped, his teeth bared. Cas flinched at his choice of words but knew they weren't truly aimed at him.

He was stood in front of the door to James' room, blocking the hunter who prowled across the living room, arms straight at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching continuously. Cas had absolutely no doubt that Dean's threat was more than just idle words and that he was literally all that stood between James and a rather excruciating death. Yet Cas couldn't let him do it. Not because of James – he'd be more than happy to smite him there and then – but because of what it would do to Dean. Yes, he'd taken human life before but Dean was not a murderer deep down. The angel wasn't about to let him become one now.

"And if you kill him, we won't get anything. Go and cool off, Dean. You need to and you know it. You're no use like this" the angel replied, keeping his tone calm. "We need you focused - _I_ need you focused. Please. For Sam."

 _Sammy._

The red lifted from Dean's vision, a clear memory of his brother slicing through it, bringing him back. His little brother laughing at him, holding up a tube of glue. His grin wide, eyes bright and his laugh ringing in Dean's ears.

Suddenly the cabin was too much. Too enclosed.

Dean lurched towards the door, slamming it open and staggering outside into the chilling night air. He stumbled forwards, landing against a broad oak tree. He grasped at its rough bark with his fingers as the realisation that his brother had been subjected to what he'd seen for months – _months_ – truly hit him. The memory of Sam laughing bled into the footage from the camera, the desperate choking sounds, the pitiful, weak movements his baby brother had made.

And then he was swinging. Over and over and over. The bark cracked and flaked as his knuckles struck it again and again, receiving the brute force that welled within him. Blood flew in small droplets from the cuts that the wood dug out of his skin, staining the tree. The punches slowed as he sank to his knees, breathing heavily, fighting the tears that threatened at the back of his eyes. His stomach lurched, bringing forth the small amount of food he'd managed to choke down earlier.

He had to focus. Had to.

Sammy needed him.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Thomas entered the cell, a tray balanced in his hands. It was just like it was before and a sense of calm filled him. No more dramas involving amateurish escape plans. He hadn't told Toni about Sam's escape; he hadn't needed to. She would know – had known – and didn't need him to tell her. That would have just been patronising and he couldn't have that. Not with Toni.

Yet, he still pitied Sam. It wasn't entirely his fault that he was in this situation. That was the most frustrating thing for Thomas: Sam had spent so long fighting that fact instead of just accepting what was and thus had made life more difficult for himself. He'd forced Toni's hand; she was only doing what she needed to.

He put the table down on the little table, pulling his keys from the pocket of his grey jacket. They jangled as he undid the padlocks from the metal loops around Sam's limbs. Sam didn't say a word as he moved around him, but a grimace flickered across his face when Thomas opened the metal around both of his ankles.

The skin beneath both was blistered and raw in wide semicircles around both limbs in exact casts of the metal loops. Thomas leaned down and inspected both closely. Straightening up, he pulled the table closer so that it was within arm's length of Sam. He grasped Sam's hand and helped pull him up into a sitting position.

"I'll be back in a moment; I need to get something for those blisters. You make a start on that while I'm gone" Thomas instructed, nodding towards the sandwich on the table. He turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Sam winced as he flexed his toes, the tendons beneath his skin tender across his ankles. He was so damned tired. Tired of everything. He felt…numb. It was almost a comfort. Like his decisions weren't really his anymore. The ache pulsed through him but that was it.

Maybe if he said yes it would go away. The absolute heartache of losing Dean just refused to subside. It was worse than anything Toni subjected him to. And he just couldn't bear it.

Not anymore.

He sat there, rubbing his hands together, thinking. Engrossed as he was, he barely registered when Thomas reappeared until he heard the older man clear his throat. He looked up wearily to find the older man glaring down at him.

"What did I just tell you to do?" Thomas chided, his eyebrow rising in a look of disapproval. Sam said nothing but grabbed half of the sandwich, taking a choking bite from it. Thomas nodded. "Good. Well done, Sam."

He set his equipment down on the table between Sam's legs, dunking a cloth into a shallow bowl of water. The soft sound of the water made Sam's heart pound, the noise too close to Toni's ministrations from a few hours before. Thomas took no notice as he wrung the cloth out before wrapping it gently around Sam's right ankle. The Winchester hissed as the cold material touched the tender skin. He dropped the food back on the plate, clenching his eyes shut and balling his hands into fists as he rode out the waves of pain that rippled through him. "Sam" Thomas said warningly. Sam peered up at him through the locks of hair that fell forward on his forehead.

"I will. I promise. But not while you're doing that. I'll puke" Sam moaned, his stomach already roiling. Thomas's mouth was downturned in disapproval but he nodded.

"Lie back and bend your legs up" he ordered. Sam did as he was told, falling back onto the hard surface and planting his feet flat on the table top. Thomas removed the cloth, the sound of sloshing water meeting Sam's ears again. He bit back the rising panic, the groan of agony, as Thomas wrapped the cooling cloth around his other ankle, doing the same with a second on the other and holding both in place. Sam ran his hands through his hair, gripping it as he felt the pain ease and wash back over him, swelling back and forth. Sometimes the treatment for the injuries was even worse than the torture itself.

"How can you do this?" The mumbled words fell out of his mouth before he even realised he'd said them. He needed a distraction, to think of something but the burning.

"That's like asking a bird how it flies."

"You don't question anything she does." Sam's tone was accusatory, bitter. The cloths were removed. The water tinkled. His heart raced.

"I wouldn't say that, not at all. I have plenty of questions," Thomas replied. The cloths were pressed back against the blisters. Another hiss of pain. "It's a question of trust in the end."

"How can you be so blind?" There was the tiniest tightening of the material against his leg.

"I think that's a rather unfair comment, Sam. I'm far from blind; I see everything." Thomas' tone remained mild.

"So you choose to be ignorant."

"No. How do I put this so you'd understand?" Thomas was quiet for a moment. "You loved Dean, yes? You did anything for him? Even when you knew that others might see his actions as wrong, you still believed in him. You weren't blind. You trusted him more than anyone else."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want his relationship with Dean to be compared to _them_.

"I believe wholeheartedly in what she is doing. Miss Toni wants a better world – a safer world. I have faith in her vision. What she's doing will accomplish that. You may not see it that way. Unfortunately, someone as selfish as you cannot fathom how the greater good works."

"Selfish?" Sam nearly choked. If he had it in him to laugh anymore, he would have.

"Yes, selfish. You could have spared us all of this if you had made the right choice months ago. But you didn't; you were arrogant. These last few months have been the punishment for your selfishness. They have been cleansing you – can't you feel it?

"Don't you think it's time you did the right thing? Let this all end, Sam; let us make the world a better place. I don't know what your life was like before but I can assume that you once believed in saving people. You've hunted so many things that you must have wanted to do that. Say yes. Be the one to save us all. What are you really fighting for anymore?"

Sam didn't respond as Thomas removed the cloths for a final time. He lay there as his wounds were bandaged, no longer wincing. He barely felt what the man was doing. Thomas was right: it had all been no less than he deserved. All the things he'd done: the people who had died when he made mistake after mistake; those that suffered because he brought about the Apocalypse, the Darkness; because he couldn't finish the Trials. All the poor decisions he'd ever made had led him here, to this moment. None of them had saved Dean. Dean was gone, in the Empty. He would never see his brother again.

 _"This is about me having faith in my family."_

His own words echoed in his ears. He'd hung on because if his faith. His faith was gone. There was no one to have faith _in_ anymore.

 _What are you really fighting for anymore?_

Thomas packed up his equipment, moving towards the door. He stopped when Sam spoke, his voice flat, defeated.

"Tell her yes."

"I will" Thomas nodded, smiling. "You're making the right decision, Sam. Eat your food; you'll need your strength."

oOo

 **South Downs National Park, Hampshire**

The boy licked his lips nervously, tongue swiping over the sheen of sweat that dampened his upper lip. He fidgeted in the hard wooden chair, hands clasped in his lap so tightly that his knuckles were white. So far the Yorkshireman had just talked to him – hadn't touched him – but there was an unsettling aura to him that made the boy uncomfortable. He wasn't the worst though. No, that was the one who walked in now, his footsteps carefully measured. Slow. He filled the room, looming over the boy as he walked forwards, blocking the dull light from the door way, casting thick shadows before him.

Beneath him, the boy started to tremble.

The man stalked forward, bending and leaning forward, placing a hand on each wooden arm of the chair. The muscles in his forearms were taut as he brought his face down close to the boy's. He shrank back, pressing against the rigid back of the chair.

"I'm not going to 'play nice' and I'm not going to negotiate. Your organisation has my brother and I will do whatever I need to to get him back. I've killed better monsters for less. I have no problem ripping you – and everyone else who stands in my way – apart. You're just collateral damage. Question is: do you really want to get in my way?" His voice was a low growl, green eyes a hard emerald that stared unblinkingly into his. He would have been less frightening if he'd come in shouting and swinging. The boy believed every word.

oOo

The murmuring of voices floated in through the walls, too indistinguishable for James to make out. He could guess what was happening. Dean was no fool it seemed; he knew which horse to bet on when it came to which of the Men of Letters would crack. That idiotic boy was going to ruin everything. Everything they'd been working for.

James couldn't let that happen.

Yet, try as he might, he couldn't get free. Damned Winchester. The broken thumb didn't even help. It was galling; he'd been trained for this and yet somehow Dean has managed to get the better of him. The humiliation was excruciating. Now he was running out of time – there was every chance that the boy in the next room would tell the hunter anything he wanted to know. He didn't really know anything except locations but that was enough to ruin them. He wasn't trained for anything; he was just a lackey. A throwaway.

James only had one option left.

Running his tongue up along his molars on the right side of his jaw, he probed at what should have been the wisdom tooth sat at the back. Its texture was different to his other teeth, smooth and flat. Flicking his tongue along the outside next to his cheek, he caught a tiny catch, releasing the flat surface. A small dribble of warm liquid ran onto his tongue. He tilted his head forward slightly, careful not to swallow it.

" _Et non audierunt vocem meam_ " he murmured, voice low. He felted the liquid warm across his tongue pleasantly like whisky on a cold winter's evening. He waited a few more seconds.

" _Inventum."_

The warmth subsided.

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

To say that Toni was delighted was a vast understatement. Everything she had been preparing, all the work she'd done was finally coming to fruition. Was there anything more satisfying? She was in her study, arranging a host of jars and vials on her desk, setting them out carefully, almost reverently. She'd waited so long. This moment was one to savour. It was the beginning of a new age. No more incompetent fools running the Men of Letters, no more supernatural beings roaming unchecked. It would all be gone in the new era. Only the loyal would survive.

And Toni was a survivor.

She placed a large ornate bowl in the centre of the jars, her fingers gliding over the smooth dark wood. The inside was a pale chestnut, deep and unblemished but it was the outside that she admired. Perfectly formed arms and hands twisted together, reaching up to the lip of the bowl like hundreds of hands reaching out of the Pit. They were blackened yet their polished surface still reflected the glow from the light. Turning away, back towards her cabinet, Toni stopped, a chill rippling up her spine.

" _Inventum."_

James' voice whispered through the room, soft as a breeze. Toni's good mood dissipated into the ether, her hands balling into fists.

"You have got to be joking" she hissed, eyes flashing.

oOo

 **South Downs National Park, Hampshire**

"Please. I'm just the driver. I don't know anything about you or your brother," the boy whimpered, clenching his shaking hands as his words tumbled out, "but I'm sure Mr Markham can explain everything. I'll take you to him – no tricks, no traps."

Dean looked into eyes full of barely controlled panic. Honestly, he actually thought the kid was going to cry. Dean didn't blame him. Pushing himself back from the chair, Dean yanked the quivering boy up by his arm.

"If you're lyin' to me, know this: see that guy?" Dean nodded at Cas. The boy's gaze slid to the angel. "He can kill you with one touch. But I won't let him. That'd be too damned good for your kind. Instead, I will take you apart piece by piece. Am I clear?"

Dry-mouthed, the driver nodded, too afraid to speak.

"Good. Let's go."

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

She was so close! Damned Winchester! She exhaled through her nose, unclenching her fists as she reached up to smooth her ponytail.

"It's fine" she murmured to herself, letting calm fall across her again. Walking across the room, she pressed a small buzzer beside the door before turning back to the items on the table.

She has already started to pack them into a crate, its inside lined with a soft layer of cotton, when Thomas appeared.

"Is everything alright, madam?"

"Yes, Thomas. We've just had to have a change of plans, I'm afraid. It seems that Dean Winchester is proving bothersome. We need to vacate. Please see to Sam" she explained, her tone precise and smooth.

"Right away. I'll have Anna prepare the transport" he replied, nodding once and ducking back out of the door.

oOo

 **Westminster, London**

Silence filled the dark room, only the distance noises of three am London filtering through at infrequent intervals. Long heavy curtains blocked the moonlight save for two tiny slivers that escaped on either side. Inside, the room was warm and comfortable, the figure asleep in the king-sized bed breathing softly.

Jonathan Markham gasped, eyes flying open as he was jerked into consciousness by a hand that snaked around his throat, squeezing tightly. His hands flew up, grappling with the arm that held him down. He saw the outline of a person in the darkness before a light was snapped on. Wide eyes stared up into livid green, Markham's whole body going still when a sharp blade, coated in symbols, dug its point into the soft flesh of his cheek, just below his eye.

"Where is my brother?" Dean snarled, digging the knife in just deep enough to break the skin, pooling a small dribble of blood around the point. Jonathan looked frantically towards the door, confusion written plainly on his face as he glanced at the other unknown man.

"Dean Winchester?" he rasped, voice thin and choked as Dean squeezed tighter.

"Yatzy. You'd better call your bitch and let my brother go if you want to see the mornin'" Dean growled. Markham's eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He tugged at the hunter's hand, trying to ease the pressure on his throat. Dean loosened his grip just enough to let him talk.

"Let him go? Sam's not a prisoner. He's waiting for you."

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

Sam was woken from his doze by the sound of the door opening. He should've guessed Toni would be that eager yet he'd hoped to get at least one last night's peaceful sleep before she came. When he rolled over, he was surprised to see Thomas again instead.

"Sorry, Sam but we need to go" he said, dropping his supplies on the table. Sam slid himself up to a sitting position, blinking blearily at the Man of Letters.

"Go? Go where?"

"Just a small change in plans; it's not something you need to worry about" Thomas soothed him, advancing upon the Winchester, a pair of handcuffs in his hands. Sam swallowed, looking down at them.

"You don't need to do that. I already said yes, didn't I?" he pleaded, shrinking away. Thomas stopped and sighed.

"Yes, you did and, while I'm happy you did, that doesn't earn my trust. We need to go and I'm not having any repeats of the other day. You _will_ do as you're told, one way or the other, Sam," Thomas admonished. "I don't have the luxury of time to negotiate. Give me your hands."

It went against every nerve he had, but Sam did as he was told. There was a glint in Thomas' eye that he hadn't seen before and it unsettled him. He already hurt enough. The cold metal snapped around one wrist tightly as Thomas grasped his other arm and pulled it behind his back, locking it into the other cuff. He went back to the table, grabbing a length of thin chain. Sam felt a lump rise in his throat. The man approached him again, wrapping the chain around his waist, threading it through the manacles and padlocking it in place. He really wasn't taking any chances; the thought making Sam nauseous. What had happened? Why the sudden move? The hunter got the feeling that this wasn't planned. That in itself was strange. Thomas came at him again, bending down in front of him.

"No" Sam moaned, pulling his legs back.

"Hush" Thomas reprimanded, grabbing his calf. He fitted the shackle around Sam's ankle, over the bandage that covered the blistered skin below. Sam winced; the bandage provided a small amount of buffering from the metal, but it didn't stop it hurting. The other manacle was fitted around his other ankle and padlocked as well, a short chain running between the two, hobbling him. He would be able to walk but not run. Memories of Henriksen bubbled to the surface; he'd taken every precaution he could think of with both brothers, going as far as to chain them together.

He looked up as Thomas walked back towards him one last time. This time Sam squirmed away from him.

"No. You don't need to do that. Thomas, please, you know you don't" he beseeched the older man, shaking his head.

"Enough, Sam. You're wasting time needlessly" Thomas' tone was cold, exasperated. He grabbed a handful of Sam's hair, holding his head still when he struggled. Sam clamped his mouth shut as Thomas tried forcing the wadded cloth between his lips. He jerked his head to the side, refusing to cooperate. There was clearly more going on that Thomas was saying. Sam didn't know whether to be worried or not, but, either way, he wasn't accepting this.

He didn't notice Thomas shift his weight, hooking his foot through the chain between Sam's ankles. He yanked hard, driving the metal against Sam's wounds. An involuntary gasp of pain was ripped from Sam, Thomas using the moment to shove the cloth into his mouth. Sam howled, glaring up at Thomas who kept his hand clamped over his mouth, keeping the cloth in place as he reached a second piece around his head, securing the gag in place tightly. Thomas let him go, watching as the hunter grappled with his bonds helplessly. "You bring it on yourself, Sam. You should have learnt that by now" Thomas sighed as he hauled the Winchester up by the arm. Marching him across the room, the going was slow with the chain only allowing Sam to take small stumbling steps.

Exiting the room, they made their way up the stairs, taking them one at a time; Thomas helping him whenever he was about to trip. The house was bright with light but the windows still tried to force the predawn darkness into the abode as they ventured down the hallway. Thomas led him out to the front and down the porch steps where a black SUV waited for them. A moan rose up from Sam's throat as Thomas unlocked the tailgate, letting it slide smoothly up. He turned the younger man to face him and nudged Sam back, pushing him onto the floor space. Sam landed heavily, his breathing ragged with exhaustion before Thomas forced him to lie down. A muffled yelp escaped around the gag as Thomas flipped him onto his stomach.

"How are we doing, Thomas?" Toni asked as she appeared beside him, Sam glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Nearly ready, madam" Thomas smiled at her as he threaded a strap under Sam's thighs, cinching it tight.

"Good, good" she replied as she disappeared, the sound of the driver's door thudding in Sam's ears. Thomas grabbed another padlock, using it to shorten the chain between Sam's ankles. He pulled out one final length short of chain, bending Sam's legs up as he threaded it through the ankle manacles and the handcuffs, ignoring Sam's quiet protests as he padlocked it all in place.

Sam struggled, twisting his body as he wriggled, trying to find some leeway in his bonds. There was absolutely no give. He wasn't going anywhere; Thomas had made sure of it.

"Good lad" Thomas said, patting his leg before slamming the tailgate shut, plunging Sam into darkness.

oOo

 **Westminster, London**

Dean's hand tightened.

"Don't lie to me!" he roared. Markham shook his head, pawing at Dean's hand. Cas stepped forward, pulling gently on Dean's arm.

"Dean. Hear him out. Time is of the essence" he advised, voice low. The Winchester released his hold and stepped away, fingers still tight on the knife.

"Start talkin'" he ordered, crossing his arms. Jonathan sat up in his bed, massaging his throat which already bore angry red finger marks. His eyes shuttered, the initial panic subsiding as he regained full control of his emotions. Dean could see why he was the head of the institution.

"Sam is not our prisoner, Dean. He has been receiving training in order to join the Men of Letters as a fully-fledged member rather than simply being a Legacy." Markham's gasp of pain was the only sound in the room as Dean's fist connected with his cheek, knocking him back.

"I said don't lie to me! I thought you Men of Letters were meant to be smart. You seem pretty damned stupid so far" Dean remarked, shaking his hand. Markham frowned up at him.

"I know Sam is the more reasonable of the two of you, Dean, but that does not mean you need to resort to mindless violence. I have no reason to lie to you."

"Oh really?" Dean snapped, tightening his grip on the knife, barely keeping his anger in check. "So, what? You were waiting for me to turn up, play nice and then do the same to me?"

"Well, yes – if you wanted to join the Men of Letters properly like Sam" Jonathan replied. Cas grabbed Dean as he surged forward again. Jonathan could no longer hide his confusion.

"Dean, stop! There's something missing here, don't you see?" Cas barked, Markham's eyes flicking to his.

"What exactly do you _think_ is going on?" the Man of Letters asked, his confusion bleeding into his tone.

"Come downstairs and we'll show you" Cas answered before Dean could. Jonathan nodded and climbed out of bed, slipping his feet into the slippers at the side of his bed. He rose to his full height, back ramrod straight. He followed behind Castiel, Dean stalking behind him.

Together, they weaved through the large townhouse, down the hallways decorated with simple elegance that was almost timeless.

"What is this?" Markham demanded as they entered the living room. Harold stood guard over James and the driver who looked so petrified Dean was surprised he wasn't sick. They were both sat in the hard Chesterfield armchairs that were stood opposite each other beside the open fireplace. A coffee table stood between them, James' laptop open and waiting. James sat there saying nothing, just staring resolutely at the cold fireplace. He didn't even acknowledge Jonathan's entrance.

"This is your chance to explain what the hell is goin' on" Dean said. He grabbed the laptop and planted it in Jonathan's hands. "Press play." Jonathan frowned at the screen but did as he was told. The black and white footage of Sam flickered up, having been saved to the computer's memory. Dean swallowed, throat working furiously as he listened to the sounds of his brother choking once again. That sound would never leave him.

"I-I don't…understand…what is this?" Jonathan asked, his eyes wide, horrified. He snapped the laptop shut, colour draining from his face.

"Is waterboarding a standard part of your 'initiation'?" Dean asked, watching as the older man grasped hold of the sofa arm and lowered himself down shakily. His eyes snapped up to Dean's.

"Of course not! What kind of barbarians do you think we are? I would never condone such action on someone let alone a Men of Letters' Legacy! James, did you know about this?" he asked, turning his glared onto his associate. James didn't move, didn't look at him.

"Of course he did – it's his damned laptop. He's been a real chatty Cathy. Doesn't seem like he's got a whole lot of respect for you, does it?" Dean remarked, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "Maybe it's time you started at the beginnin'."

Jonathan ripped his gaze from James and locked onto Dean. He nodded, taking a deep breath.

"Obviously, we've been watching you for years – that can't be a surprise. Mostly we left you to it as we didn't want to overstep our bounds. After all the business with the Darkness, we realised that things needed to change. We wanted to help; to lend you our expertise. So I sent Lady Bevell – Toni – and James to fetch you both. We wanted to share resources, to start a connection between the London Chapter and you. We'd hoped that, together, we could turn the tide on the fight against the supernatural.

"Yet when Toni arrived at your bunker, she informed me that you were dead; Sam was grief-stricken, obviously. She brought him back, insisting that she felt her home was the best place for him to grieve and then learn our ways. Once he'd recuperated and made use of our resources, we were going to re-establish the Men of Letters' American Chapter by sending him back with other members who were willing to go. She sent us regular reports of his progress in many different areas. Then we were alerted to the fact that you were alive. Naturally, I sent for you."

"And you never saw Sam?"

Jonathan shook his head. "No. I don't see many of the Men of Letters outside of the boardroom; I simply have too much to do. One of my associates, Jacob, went to see him a few days ago. He came back glowing about Sam's progress."

"And he didn't notice that she'd been _torturing_ my little brother?" Dean spat, making Markham flinch.

"He said Sam was ill, that a fire spell had gone wrong. When he saw Sam, he was unconscious and ill but he saw all the work Sam had done."

"Clearly he hadn't. You can't even trust your own people" Dean scoffed. A small part of him pitied the Man of Letters. He really hadn't known what was going on.

"No. It would seem I can't." Jonathan murmured, his glare fixed on James. He stood up abruptly, straightening his pyjamas. "Words are not good enough if this has happened under my care. I have not authorised it; I do not condone it and those involved will be heavily reprimanded. I have no idea what Lady Bevell is up to but I fully intend to find out. This is not what the London Chapter stands for. We need to get to Lady Bevell's residence and remove Sam immediately. Let me call my specialists; we will sort this now. Today."

"What about these lads?" Harold nodded towards the two other Men of Letters.

"If you wouldn't mind watching them for the moment, I have a particular individual who will get the answers we want without the brutality they have demonstrated." The boy turned grey, finally losing all colour from his cheeks. Markham left the room, already on the phone.

oOo

 **A40, outskirts of London**

"Are you alright, madam? You've been very quiet" Thomas asked, turning his gaze from the road. Toni kept her gaze forward, her eyes never leaving the road as she drove. She had insisted on doing so, taking some of her frustration out through her driving which was erratic and fast. Thomas had flicked through their itinerary, checking that they had everything they needed.

"Of course, Thomas. You know me – prepare for all eventualities and you will never be caught out. I'm hoping Anna left after she finished my instructions" she smiled briefly.

"I'm sure she did."

She patted his hand warmly. "I hope you know how invaluable you are to me." He smiled.

"Thank you. I know that it's been a long road but we're nearly there. Does it matter that we're no longer at home?"

"No," Toni shook her head. "As long as we have all the ingredients, we can summon him from anywhere. If Sam changes his mind, I won't be impressed."

Thomas nodded, turning his head to listen. They hadn't heard anything from the hunter except for the occasional rattle of chains. "Understandable. He won't. We'll make sure of it."

oOo

 **Kensington, London**

The early dawn light was pooling over Toni's house, the soft blue light cooling the cream exterior. Early morning birdsong was trilling through the air as the birds begun to flit down to the lawn, looking for worms that had been drawn to the surface by the dew that dampened the ground.

The roar of several engines sent the tiny creatures fluttering back up into the safety of the trees as they rumbled up the driveway, coming to a stop by the steps up to the porch. A dozen men, dressed in black, poured forth from the vehicles, Jonathan, Dean and Castiel running behind them. All of them were grim-faced as they barrelled through the door, leaving it swinging on its hinges. The tactical team spread out, running through the house.

"Sammy?!" Dean shouted, running in. The house was completely silent – too silent. Shouts of 'clear!' rang through. A second wave of men stormed in, electrical equipment that Dean had never seen before in their hands. They scanned along the walls, listening to odd frequencies that sounded very similar to the old EMF detectors Dean used to use.

"Mr Markham!" one shouted, his machine going haywire next to a wooden panel. They walked down the hallway, stopping before the panel, staring at the Men of Letters' insignia that was carved into the mahogany. Jonathan pressed a finger to the insignia which depressed under his touch, the entire panel swinging inwards, revealing a dark stairwell. Dean surged forward, but Markham held out his arm, stopping him.

"Wait, Dean" he murmured, nodding to his own men. Armed with flashlights, they descended the stairs first, vigilant and careful. Another shout of 'clear!' echoed up from the darkness. Making his way down, Dean felt his heart pounding in his chest. He was so close. He followed the trail of flashlights, blinking when someone found the overheard lights. Before him were two doors, the one on the left open, the other shut with one of Markham's men bent over a small control panel. Dean ran through to the open room, halting when he saw the glass lined wall. The room was full of all manner of instruments and pieces of equipment – some Dean recognised; cattle prods, blowtorches, knives; others his didn't.

His stomach turned.

He looked through the glass, his stomach plummeting. He recognised it from the CCTV footage: the same tiles, metal table – everything a bright white. Yet it was empty.

"No" he whispered, voice broken. He heard the other door click before he saw it open through the glass. He ran around, hoping that what he saw through the glass was a lie. It had to be. Stumbling into the room, he halted. It was empty.

A small square of white paper sat on the metal table. Dean lurched forward, grabbing it. The handwriting was simple, elegantly cursive. They were too late.

 _Soon your world will burn and a new one will rise._

oOo

 **Loving the season so far too – finding lots of inspiration in it! Hoping you spotted a few nods to previous episodes :)**

 **Please review!**


	16. Broken

**Thank you everyone for all your positive reviews and messages – you make my heart so happy! I'm so excited for where this is all going; I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing this one! If Thomas seemed a bit heavy-handed I apologise, but after watching the first 2 episodes, I got a real sense that the MoL really weren't taking any chances with Sam.**

 **Got a surprise new character for you – hope you like them!**

oOo

 _"It's no secret that the both of us are running out of time" – Hello, Adele_

oOo

 **Westminster, London**

"We're ready for you, sir." A deep baritone voice shattered the silence that suffocated the Men of Letters' boardroom. Dean, sitting on Markham's right, looked up, staring intently at the man in the doorway. Dressed in an impeccable black suit that was buttoned at the waist, he stood just under six feet. He was readjusting the white shirt cuffs that protruded from the ends of his black jacket, threading a square silver cufflink through the hole. Fading black ink rested on the back of his right hand, the crucifix simply designed yet elegant against the stark white of his skin. Dean frowned as he stared at him, a sense of familiarity whispering yet too far to pinpoint. His face was clean shaven but lined with age, his short hair a solid iron grey. Yet it was his eyes that caught Dean. They were a brighter grey than his hair but they were cold and dead, devoid of any compassion. Dean had seen their likes before.

"Thank you, Mr Ketch; please lead the way" Markham replied, rising.

"Lemme know how y'get on" Harold called, putting his feet up on the polished cocobolo table. He raised his eyebrow, daring Markham to say something. He grinned when the Man of Letters walked off without a word. Dean rolled his eyes and followed Jonathan, Cas trailing in his wake.

They have left the Men of Letters' 'swat team' (Dean couldn't think of anything else to call them) at Toni's house, sweeping it for any intelligence that could prove useful. Dean had got out of the cell as quickly as he could, unable to stand it. Knowing that his brother had been trapped there, kept like an animal, for so long, broke him. He was no use there so he had come back with Markham to follow the only real lead they had.

They walked down the corridor, Cas admiring its simple elegance. It was so incredibly strange that the British Men of Letters had their offices right in the middle of London, almost on display for everyone to see. From the outside, it had looked like any other set of offices housed within one of London's original buildings. It was a stark contrast to their bunker back home.

Mr Ketch unlocked one of the doors that branched off to the left, revealing a bright and airy room, large windows filtering the bright morning sunshine in. It was sparsely furnished with just a desk, currently covered with an array of different pieces of equipment lined up neatly. In the centre of the room, strapped to a chair that was bolted to the floor, sat James. His head lolled, his breathing laboured. Satisfaction rolled through Dean, warring with the intense desire to finish him off.

"What's wrong with him?" Castiel asked, frowning.

"Mr Ketch is our expert in information extraction. When I said to you that we would not rely on torture to gain information, I wasn't lying. We don't need it; not with Mr Ketch around. He has developed his own concoction that allows him to remove the information required" Jonathan explained. Mr Ketch pulled up a chair, placing it opposite James before seating himself.

"Like truth serum?" Dean snorted, incredulous. Mr Ketch slid his dispassionate gaze towards him.

"Nothing so juvenile, Mr Winchester. A bit of spell work, a few key ingredients…there is no science fiction here, just science. James will tell you anything you want to know."

"How do you know it's the truth?" Dean pushed, frowning. The look he received was chilling, sending a cold shiver down his spine. Suddenly, he didn't want to know. And yet the look finally sparked the recognition he'd been searching. Dean's eyes widened and he looked between the two. "Wait…are you two _related?_ "

"I don't know what that has to do with this, but yes. James is my son" Mr Ketch replied, pulling the lid from his pen. Dean's stomach lurched, suddenly nauseous.

"And you're happy doin' that to your own family?"

The Man of Letters sighed, clearly getting exasperated. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be doing this, Mr Winchester. My loyalty is to the Men of Letters first and foremost. Now, if you're quite finished with your inane questions, I would like to get started and I'm sure you would like some answers to more pressing matters." Dean clamped his mouth shut, unwilling to antagonise the sinister man further.

"Now, James. Did you or Lady Bevell tell your plans to anyone else, including any of the board members of the Men of Letters?" he began. James breathed a deep sigh, his steely eyes focusing intently on his father.

"No. No one except me knew anything outside of Lady Bevell's estate" he replied, voice even and smooth as though he was just reciting a shopping list. A strange sense of relief filled Dean; Markham hadn't been lying. A quick glance at the head of the Men of Letters revealed a similar feeling.

"Does that include the driver who met you at the airport?"

"He doesn't know anything. He was transport. That's it."

"Were any of the reports that Lady Bevell filed about Sam true?"

James shook his head. "We manufactured files, notes, essays; anything we thought you might want to look at."

Every answer was straightforward and blunt; he wasn't telling more than he needed to. If it didn't answer the question, it was excluded.

"Why did you go to America to collect Dean?" Mr Ketch asked, scribbling away furiously in his notebook.

"Markham wanted it to happen. I was following orders."

"I told you to invite Dean back to London so that we could discuss him working with us," Jonathan growled; he was not used to such disrespect. "What did Toni tell you to do?"

"Bring him back to England by any means necessary."

"And that included killing innocent people?" Dean snapped. Markham looked at him, surprised.

"Yes."

Dean met Jonathan's look. "He murdered one of the lab technicians who was doing the blood sampling on Toni's sigil." Jonathan visibly paled yet Mr Ketch didn't even flinch.

"Why did Lady Bevell want Dean?" he continued, glossing over their interruptions.

"She knew what he was like. If there was a chance that he thought Sam was alive, _he_ would ruin everything. It's better to contain the poison than let it spread." Dean bristled at the comment, but said nothing. Anger rolled off him in waves.

"Did Sam ever know that we wanted him to join the Men of Letters?"

"No. It was never going to happen so she didn't bother."

"So she was planning on abducting Dean but not completing orders? What did she think was going to happen?"

James shrugged. "We would get Dean to England and then there would have been an accident – car, monster, that kind of thing. He would have been wiped out of memory before you ever got to see him."

"And in reality, what did she plan for him?"

"Use him as a final tool to break Sam if need be. Then dispose of him." Horror rippled through Dean, plunging his stomach.

"Why the hell would that break him?" he choked out, already knowing the answer.

"Sam thinks you're dead. To see you alive and then threaten to kill you? What better way to get him to cooperate?" James' lipped curled into a vicious sneer. Castiel's hand fell on Dean's shoulder, his fingers digging in. At first, Dean thought it was a restraining tactic. He quickly realised the anger that was radiating from the angel like fire.

"Why are you trying to break Sam?" Mr Ketch continued, voice perfectly even.

"To get him to say yes."

"Say yes to what?" Dean whispered, his heart thumping against his ribs. James slid his glacial eyes towards him, a slow, patronising half smile spreading across his face.

"Lucifer."

oOo

 **West Hyde, Colne Valley Regional Park**

They had been travelling for less than an hour, but Sam had felt every second of it. He was cramped and stiff, desperate to stretch out his long legs that felt like they'd seized at the knees. The chain around his waist had slipped, rubbing painfully against the already sore burn on his stomach that was still healing. He'd managed to roll himself onto his side, taking the pressure away from his stomach wounds, but his arm had gone dead a while ago. The blisters around his ankles were on fire every time the car bumped in the road and jostled him. Sunlight had crept in through the tinted windows, but bound as he was, the hunter couldn't manoeuvre himself into a position where he could lift his head up to see outside. It had given him access to the side of the SUV though. More specifically, a small hook that was used for securing luggage. He'd spent most of the journey trying to catch the edge of the cloth covering him mouth on it, hoping to yank it down. Progress was slow since Thomas had tied it so damned tight, but he'd managed to uncover his top lip. He just needed to spit out the cloth in his mouth.

The car slowed and stopped. _Shit_. Sam didn't know whether to panic or be relieved. The desperate need to be free of his confinement was overwhelming. He wriggled closer to the hook again, desperately trying to use it to remove the cloth. He strained his ears, trying to get some semblance of where he was. Nothing. It was completely quiet and Sam's stomach dropped; they clearly weren't in a city anymore. _What did it matter?_ A small part of his mind whispered. They were never going to let him escape without outside intervention: his current predicament was a testament to that. Yet the old Winchester fire didn't let him just give in. He might have agreed to say yes, but with a spontaneous shift in their plans, he had to use any opportunity to get free that he could. He hadn't said yes yet. The soft thump of two car doors sent his heart pounding. The lock on the tailgate clicked, the door rising slowly as he turned his face away.

Thomas looked down at Sam, satisfied to see him mostly as he'd left him. He was sweating, a thin layer glistening on his bare arms and his breathing was slight laboured, his throat working furiously. Of course the idiot would waste time struggling to get loose when he had absolutely no chance whatsoever. His white shirt had a streak of red slowly seeping through beneath the silvery chain. Ah. That would explain some of his discomfort. He frowned when the Winchester didn't turn to look at him, keeping his face averted.

"What're you hiding Sam?" he said, reaching in and pulling Sam easily across the floor of the SUV by his bent knees. Thomas swung him around, frown deepening when he saw what Sam had been doing. Sam's eyes widened and his shook his head, trying desperately to finally push the cloth from inside his mouth. "Now, Sam," the Man of Letters admonished, grabbing his head roughly and stuffing the cloth back further into Sam's mouth, ignoring the defiant bellows coming from the Winchester who writhed beneath him, "this continued refusal to comply is becoming quite galling." He backhanded the hunter brutally, stunning him before undoing the knot in the cloth at the back of his head.

Sam fought the darts of light that echoed across his vision from the blow. He felt the cloth disappear momentarily before it was brutally yanked back over his mouth, securing the gag in place once again. He whimpered, wincing involuntarily as it was pulled tighter than before.

Thomas gave the knot a final tug before flipping Sam over onto his front, eliciting a soft moan from his captive as his stomach made contact with the hard surface. Producing a set of keys from his pocket, Thomas released the padlocks that locked the chain between Sam's ankles and wrists and the one shortening the tether between his ankles. He unbuckled the strap from around Sam's thighs, putting the extra restraints in a bag which he slung over his shoulder.

Sam stretched out his legs, biting back the groan as the blood rush back through his long limbs. Thomas hauled him backwards again, twisting and pulling him into an upright position with his legs dangling over the edge of the trunk. He blinked, looking around him while the older man gave him a moment. They were parked on an old dirt track, muddied by the recent rain which left large squelching puddles oozing on both edges of the road. Oak trees stood sentinel around them, their gnarled limbs twisted together to form a dense green canopy. Between their trunks, the world was dark, invisible. The track meandered off a few hundred yards away, bending off between the oaks.

"Up we get" Thomas said, dragging Sam to his feet. He wrapped his hand around the chain looping Sam's waist, tugging him forward. The hunter shuffled after him as quickly as he could with pins and needles shooting up and down his legs. He looked up at the building before them. It was an old barn, the wooden slats grey with age, supporting a tired red tiled roof. While it wasn't dilapidated yet, it wasn't far off. It squatted in the middle of the clearing, cowed by the giant oaks that towered over it. Looming over them, dread filled Sam as he was steered towards the huge open doors, darkness lurking within.

oOo

 **Westminster, London**

Dean couldn't breathe. He was trying – God knows he was trying – but for some reason his body just couldn't respond.

The air hung thick and silent, James' answer filling the space. It expanded, swallowing them all, stealing reason and replacing it with a slow, bubbling panic.

"Lucifer is dead" Dean finally choked out, his voice barely even a whisper.

"No – he's alive. From what we gather, he's been jumping from person to person, trying to find a sustainable vessel. Of course, there's only one of those" James replied. He didn't need his father's concoction to ladle out that truth. Watching Dean's tough façade begin to crumble with that one simple piece of information was intensely satisfying for the Man of Letters.

"Why on earth would Toni want to give Lucifer his true vessel?! She'll start the Apocalypse all over again. We _fight_ evil; we don't condone it!" Markham exclaimed, his voice incredulous.

"No, we don't. We watch. We catalogue. We learn. We may have turned the tide for a while here in the UK, but the rest of the world is falling. How many times did Toni ask that we go and assist? You stopped us every time because you're too _afraid_ that we will upset the 'natural balance', that we'll do more harm than good. You're not Men of Letters – you're sheep. Tired old has-beens who rely on the ways of the past and ruin the future. Toni is seeing to it that our future is secured." James' explanation was spat at them, the first real time they'd seen a true emotional response from him.

"Lucifer will end it all; he won't save anything!" Castiel snapped, shaking his head.

"He will save those who are worthy; those who are loyal. He will eradicate the supernatural and, yes, there will be a lot of human fatality, but in the end, we will be able to rebuild this world in Lucifer's image. Sometimes you have to create the wildfire to save the forest."

"And you _seriously_ think the devil is going to spare you? To listen to you and that bitch without killing you?" Dean laughed mirthlessly.

"Toni has been in regular contact with him – where do you think this all came from?" James' head tilted quizzically. "Lucifer knew that he needed his true vessel to control his full strength and therefore beat Amara. We had already planned on taking Sam before you did whatever you did with the Darkness. When he was expelled by Amara, we agreed that we would obtain Sam for him by any means necessary."

"If that is your final solution," Mr Ketch broke in, his voice still even, unfazed. He could've been talking about the weather rather than Lucifer and the end of the world. "Why hasn't it happened yet?"

James smiled, turning his gaze directly at Dean. "Because Sam has to say yes to Lucifer's possession. Sam is a rather stubborn individual. It's taking a lot of… _persuasion_ to get him to make the right choice."

He snapped.

Dean surged forwards, fists swinging, making contact, again and again and again all while James' laughter rang in his ears.

oOo

 **West Hyde, Colne Valley Regional Park**

The inside of the barn was dim, the grey sunlight filtering in through the few high windows that graced the sides of the building, lighting up solemn square patches on the straw-littered floor. Vast pillars stood adjacent to each other, supporting the roof and the canopy above. It was empty save for a few old pieces of farm equipment left to rot in the corners. Even the silence was ominous; the usual scurrying sounds of rats or roosting birds missing. They knew something was coming.

Thomas pulled Sam towards a single wooden chair that sat near one of the pillars. Toni was across the space, her back turned to them as she set up her equipment on a long wooden table. Confidence exuded from her in waves; she knew she would get what she wanted. And for every step Sam took into the barn, the more his own despair threatened to overtake him. The Man of Letters pressed him down onto the chair, dropping his bag down beside him. He pulled out his keys once again, releasing the padlock that secured the chain around Sam's waist. Unthreading it, he left it around the handcuffs but looped it down and around the leg of the chair before reattaching the padlock. Sam's chest rose and fell heavily as his dread grew, panic starting to fire through his nerves. He flinched when Thomas grabbed his ankle, releasing it from the manacle, only to lock it into a metal shackle that was attached to the front leg of the chair.

"Breathe, Sam. It's alright" Thomas murmured, straightening up, having done the same with his other leg. Sam's eyes were wide, his pupils huge, distress pooling in their grey depths. He watched Thomas walk over to Toni, murmuring something too soft for him to hear as she pointed to a box at one end of the table. Sam thrashed, gazing around desperately, his head snapping back and forth, the claustrophobic feeling rising when the shackles around his ankles gave nothing and the short chain pulled on his shoulders. Was this it? He yanked on the handcuffs violently, desperate to do… _anything._

"Sam?"

The metal dug in painfully the more he struggled. A low growl emanated in his throat when Thomas grabbed his jaw in a vicelike grip, forcing him to look up. Sam's eyes widened and he jerked violently, making the wood of the chair screech across the floor, when Thomas brought the needle he was holding up into view a few inches from the hunter's face. "Sam. Listen to me now. You need to calm down. You're not going anywhere. We're here now. But I can't have you panicking and hurting yourself. If you're going to do that, I need to sedate you." Thomas explained, locking his eyes onto Sam's wild ones, imploring him. Sam tried shaking his head, a muffled protest escaping the gag. "Are you going to calm down?" he asked. Sam nodded, breathing heavily through his nose. He fought with himself, trying to slow his breathing, releasing his locked muscles one by one. "Good lad. There you go" Thomas soothed, loosening his grip and standing up straight. He put the cap back on the needle, placing it carefully back in the box he'd put besides the chair. He patted Sam's shoulder, walking away from him and back towards Toni.

This was it.

Sam's head dropped forward, his fight finally gone. They had taken everything from him. Warmth pricked at the back of his eyes, vision blurring as the tears welled. All the tension fell from his body, leaving him sagging in the chair. That tiny glimmer of hope that the trip had given him evaporated. There was no one to save him. There was no chance of escape. He was left with his final option. Twin dark spots appeared on his white pants as the tears fell.

Say yes.

oOo

 **Westminster, London**

Castiel looked up as a group of men in suits rushed past the doorway he was stood in, their faces grim, bodies tense, footsteps echoing down the corridor. The Men of Letters headquarters had burst with activity as soon as they'd realised what Toni's plan was. He had managed to keep his own anger in check – just. The humiliation, the betrayal still rippled through him whenever he thought back to his possession by Lucifer. He didn't know how, but he would exact his vengeance on the fallen arch angel. Yet, somehow he didn't want that meeting to be now. If it was, it would mean that Sam had finally broken.

He glanced in the room at Dean, sympathy welling within him. The hunter sat sideways on a medical bed as a woman bathed his swollen and bloodied knuckles. It had taken Jonathan, Mr Ketch and Castiel to drag him away from James, the Winchester clocking all of them at least once as he flailed. As much as he was loathed to do it, Cas had had no choice but to render his distraught friend unconscious before pulling him from the room. James was a bloodied mess in the chair, his face barely recognisable. Cas would've left him that way but they still needed answers. Returning, he pressed two fingers to James' forehead, healing him instantly. With that he left, leaving Mr Ketch to finish questioning him while he saw to Dean.

The hunter had come around quickly as Cas was heaving him towards the medical room Jonathan led him to. He had refused to let the angel heal him, instead sitting there in silence while the doctor tended to his wounds.

"What if we're too late, Cas?" His voice was quiet, the softest Castiel had ever heard Dean speak. He lifted eyes that were glistening gently in the light. He looked so young. Vulnerable. His self-flagellation was evident. His one rule, _watch out for Sammy_ , had been broken. Brutally. Perhaps more so than ever before. The angel walked into the room and perched on the bed beside his friend.

"We're not. Sam's strong, Dean; we all know that. He refused Lucifer in the cage – he'll do it again" he replied, his voice softly confident. Dean shook his head, blinking back the tears.

"I still remember how he looked then. He was terrified. They've been doing this to him for so long; how could anyone not crack? He told me why he refused last time – he said that he had faith that _we_ would find a way to stop Amara."

"We did."

"I know – that's not my point. He said no because of his faith in his family – in me. In you. He doesn't know you survived that banishment and _he thinks I'm dead._ If we're dead to him, what does he have faith in anymore? He might had held out to start with – I can't imagine Sammy being anything but damned stubborn, but after the way they've treated him for nearly four months? Hell, I couldn't last that long. I know he's been through it before – hell, Lucifer would've done worse to him – but that doesn't make it okay. Doesn't make it easier."

"You can't think that way, Dean. We won't know until we find him" Cas answered, but Dean's words filled him with dread. He knew the Winchester was right. Dean tapped his chest, over his heart, with one hand.

"I can feel it, Cas. Somethin' bad is about to go down. We need to act. Now."

oOo

 **West Hyde, Colne Valley Regional Park**

Thomas looked over his shoulder, placing a hand on Toni's shoulder briefly.

"Look" he murmured. She turned, a bright grin gracing her features at the sight of Sam, head bowed, his limbs slack. _They'd done it._ She breathed a sigh of relief. She'd doubted – oh, she'd doubted the whole way here – but seeing the once proud hunter, the one who had repeated his bravado of 'fuck you' for months, languishing in his defeat brought her such sweet joy.

"It's nearly time, Thomas" she replied, her voice light, happy. She placed a final vial on the table before turning and walking towards Sam, a bounce in her step as she swept up a chair and placed it in front of the Winchester. "Now, Sam," she started as she sat down. Sam lifted his head to meet her gaze. His utter defeat flattened his eyes to a smoky grey, their spark finally gone. "It's not going to be long until I summon Lucifer. When that happens, I expect it to be a smooth process. There are no tricks here; we're past that. As long as you cooperate, you don't need to suffer anymore" she explained, her smile warm, reassuring. Sam tugged at his gag, making muffled noises. "You have something to say?" she asked. He nodded wearily. "It'd better not be you going back on your word. I won't be pleased." He shook his head. She glanced up at Thomas who stood behind Sam, giving him a curt nod. He reached down to untie the cloth covering Sam's mouth, removing it and pulling the wadded cloth from between his lips. Sam heaved a sigh, wincing as he flexed his jaw which had become stiff after being forced open for so long. He licked dry lips. Toni opened a bottle of water, holding it to his mouth and letting him drink from it greedily. It soothed his parched mouth, running freely down his throat.

"When he comes, I need to be able to talk to him" Sam murmured, his voice crackling. He cleared his throat, dislodging some of the discomfort. Toni's smile wavered. "It doesn't affect my answer; I just need him to do something for me."

"And what's that?" Toni asked, her curiosity piqued.

"That's between me and him" he replied without spite. He just didn't have it in him anymore. Toni shot Thomas a confused look. The man shrugged. It didn't matter as long as he said yes. Rising, she looked down on the Winchester.

"Let's get started."

oOo

 **As these chapters seem to have a habit of doing, this one ran away with me a little bit! Please review and let me know your thoughts! I can't wait to hear what you guys think of it all!**


	17. Time is Up

**So, this was originally going to be one chapter but I just got carried away (again!) so have split it into two.**

oOo

 _"Hangman, Hangman, tie your knot tight._

 _Time is up and I'm not running from you tonight."_

 _\- Hangman, Black Stone Cherry_

oOo

 **West Hyde, Colne Valley Regional Park**

Sam sat perfectly still, his head bowed as he worked on controlling his breathing and the fear that surged through his gut. It didn't matter that he'd seen Lucifer recently – hell even worked with him (sort of) – but Chuck had been around. He'd been safer than previous confrontations. And yet, here he was instigating the whole meeting with Satan himself. It was what he chose. He had to remember that. Not what he wanted but he couldn't have that; Dean was dead. That didn't stop the unconscious terror that gripped him whenever he even thought about Lucifer, let alone saw him in person. His heartrate was frantic, well up past 130bpm. He'd tried counting, hoping it would help calm him. It didn't.

Nothing would.

Toni stood over the ornate wooden bowl, putting the finishing ingredients into it. Anticipation filled her – not quite excitement, not quite fear. It was a good thing to be in Lucifer's good books and this whole exercise guaranteed her a place in it for a very long time to come. A part of her wished it hadn't come to this; if only the board had listened to her – let her do her job! But now the world was almost too far gone. It was time to severe the gangrenous limbs, leaving the few to rebuild and make the world better again. No more monsters – either supernatural or human.

She sprinkled in the final herbs, immense satisfaction filling her. This was it. All her hard work was about to pay off. She glanced over at Thomas who held two fingers to Sam's throat, taking his pulse. He was frowning in disapproval.

"Thomas, we're ready" she called. He left the Winchester, approaching her.

"His pulse is incredibly high and erratic, madam."

"It will be, Thomas; Sam may have agreed to say yes, but he's still petrified of Lucifer. He is a very…impressive entity" she assured him. "Now, when I do the incantation, it won't take long for him to appear. I would like you to stay close to Sam, if you can. Obviously, if Lucifer wants you to back away, you do so without question. He has a…volatile temper and I don't want you to get hurt." Thomas smiled warmly at her, giving her a brief pat on the arm. He loved her like she was his own daughter; even at the most testing of times, she showed her truth warmth. As he walked away, back towards his charge, Toni struck a match, dropping it into the bowl as she chanted the incantation she had memorised for this moment.

 _"In nomine magni dei nostri Satanas introibi ad altare Domini Inferi."_

The bowl spewed forth red fire, rising like a miniature mushrooming fireball as sparks flew. It flared bright, scorching, before sizzling down to embers, filling the air with the rich scent of charred wood.

They waited.

Sam closed his eyes, still trying to find some sort of rhythm to his breathing but he couldn't. He felt Thomas' hand on his shoulder, the touch aiming to be reassuring but it just sent the blood roaring in his ears.

A peal of thunder rocketed through the air; a swift electric current filling the barn, making the tiny hairs on his forearms stand on end as lightning cracked, once, twice, three times in quick succession. One more blinding flash scorched the room before plunging it into absolute darkness even though it was daylight outside. Sam blinked hard, trying to dispel the lingering dots and swirls that clouded his vision. It returned slowly, the light coming back to the barn except for the dark figure that stood near the door.

Sam's heart missed a beat as the figure turned, their eyes locking, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Hello bunk buddy."

oOo

 **Westminster, London**

Dean paced along the side of the boardroom, his steps quick and erratic. Nerves seeped from him like sweat; he hadn't slept for over 50 hours and he could feel the exhaustion tugging at his peripheries. There was no way he was even going to consider resting – if he was honest with himself, there was little chance that he'd be able to sleep if he tried. His mind was too full of his brother, of all the things that had happened, that could be happening to him right now. Why hadn't they considered Lucifer? His memories seeped back to the conversation he had had with Castiel.

 _"Think about it, Dean; if Lucifer had somehow managed to get to Sam, don't you think we'd know by now?"_

The angel had been right – was right – they would have known. _He_ would have known. Yet they had never considered the possibility that someone else, let alone a human, would be doing the arch angel's dirty work for him.

His head shot up when the door clicked open, Jonathan and Mr Ketch walking in. Jonathan had a look of triumph; Mr Ketch remained completely impassive as he wiped his hands on a clean white handkerchief.

"We have locations" Jonathan announced, answering Dean's question before it rose.

"Great! Let's go!" he responded, moving towards the door. Jonathan held up his hands, blocking the exit. Dean glared at him.

"Wait, Dean. I said _locations_. Plural. We need a plan; if we go in blind, we have no idea what we're going to find. Sit, please" he implored, his voice calm, kind. He'd always known about the Winchester brother's protective streak but it was something else to see it in person. Part of him wasn't surprised at how they had died so many times if their approach was to storm in first and strategise later.

Dean sat down, annoyed that the Man of Letters was right. If he wanted Sammy back in one piece, they needed a plan and he wasn't thinking straight. It irked him that he knew that. He watched as Jonathan and Mr Ketch both sat down, Jonathan in his seat at the head of the table, the other man in the seat next to Harold. The hunter, normally so easy going, visibly tensed. It wasn't his fault; Mr Ketch appeared to have that effect on everyone.

"James has given us three possible locations for where Toni could have taken Sam. None of them are Men of Letters' sanctioned safe houses," Jonathan began, all eyes focused on him. "It would seem that, dependent on how close she is to getting Sam to bre- _agree_ , that could tell us where she is. James seems to think that the closer she is to London still, the more likely it is that Lucifer isn't far behind."

"Okay…but we've got no idea – other than a gut feelin' – how likely that is" Dean countered, frowning.

"That's not entirely true," Mr Ketch cut in. Jonathan shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "James is very attuned to Toni and how she operates. They've worked together for many years. He believes that the note she left is a sure sign that she is close to reaching her goal."

Dean's jaw dropped. "How?!"

"It's a show of arrogance" Mr Ketch said simply. "She is confident that she will succeed and that forced her to leave the note. If she wasn't close, she would have gone without a trace. We're more certain that she's near London as she'll want to do this quickly. A long journey is not conducive with that. She knew James had been compromised."

"How?" Castiel asked. Jonathan sighed.

"All of our field agents – like James – have a false tooth containing a powerful communication compound that, when released with the correct incantation, can alert their team member to their situation if it becomes critical." Jonathan explained.

"Upon examination, James' tooth was empty" Mr Ketch added.

"Wait, so you're telling me the son of a bitch _warned_ her that we were comin'?!" Dean barked, fists clenched. Jonathan nodded.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"I'm gonna rip his damned throat out" Dean snarled.

"James will no longer be a threat to you or the rest of society, Mr Winchester." Mr Ketch stated. Dean gazed at him, appalled by the blank look that sat in his eyes.

"What d'you mean?"

"James will be reconditioned. He will never be a threat again."

If it had been anyone else, Dean would have been horrified. The way the odd Man of Letters said _reconditioned_ made his gut run cold. He didn't know what that meant, but it somehow sounded a hell of a lot worse than death.

"We take threats from within our own organisation seriously, Dean. You needn't worry," Jonathan explained. "Now, I propose that we send teams to each location, just to be thorough, however we think the most likely place she'll be is less than an hour's drive from here. But-" he held up a finger when Dean made to interrupt, "we must prepare for the worst-case scenario. There is an already increased risk that we may well face Lucifer himself whether he is in your brother or not." Dean paled at the suggestion. "Therefore we need to prepare for that. We cannot do anything if we're dead so we need to prepare and do so properly."

oOo

 **West Hyde, Colne Valley Regional Park**

Those words echoed in Sam's ears, making his mouth dry and every muscle tense involuntarily. Even if he'd been free to run, he wasn't sure he would've been able to move. _It's alright, Sammy._ Dean's voice reverberated in his mind. He forced his eyes open, willing himself to look at his greatest fear.

Lucifer stepped forward into one of the patches of sunlight, a soft smile revealing pearly white teeth. He was dressed in all black leather, a loose-fitting t-shirt beneath a battered jacket with a popped collar that was edged in red. A gold ring glowed in his left ear and a small circular pedant hung on a black cord around his neck. Dark hair was swept back, not dissimilar to Sam's, flecked with a few greying strands. Once upon a time, his vessel would have been a heartbreaker.

The three humans gazed upon him: Sam with unconcealed revulsion; Toni quick to covers hers. Vince Vincente's rugged face was now a mess of scabs and open sores which glistened with pus around the edges. A hole had formed in one of his cheeks, revealing his top teeth in a grotesque fashion. The backs of his hands were raw and scabbing. When he walked, he limped, favouring his left leg over his right. The months of waiting had been long and Vince was just about finished.

"Lucifer. Welcome" Toni stepped forward, her smile warm even though her heart tripped. She was no fool. Lucifer's eyes slid away from Sam, locking onto her.

"Toni" he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. It was softer than Sam had heard before, almost like his words were just a puff of air. A shiver crawled over his skin. "So good to see you again. I trust you finally have everything ready for me." He reached up a hand and brushed his fingers lightly across her cheek. If she felt in anyway revolted as the rough scabs glided over her skin, she didn't show it. The Woman of Letters was made of sterner mettle than that.

"I believe so. I can only apologise that it's taken so long" she replied, remaining absolutely still. Lucifer smiled down at her, his green eyes cold and calculating. He breezed past her, limping towards Sam who flickered his gaze up once before averting his eyes.

"Oh I don't doubt that Sam here was anything but his usual stubborn self," he replied, lips quirking. "I expect nothing less of him. I am…glad of your timing; demon blood has extended dear Vince's shelf life but, as you can see, he's just about had it." Toni didn't reply; she was not one to antagonise the Devil himself or pander to his quirks. Over the months, she'd come to understand that keeping a respectable, but healthy distance ensured that she was more likely to survive.

Sam flinched as Lucifer stepped closer, squeezing his eyes shut as he breathed through his nose rapidly, wishing he was anywhere else. He felt his shirt rise, a cold draft rippling across his abdomen as the arch angel tutted.

"If you had wanted tactics, Toni, you should've asked. I know _all_ of Sam's favourite moves. The things that really made him dance and sing" Lucifer chided, staring at the damage that had been done to his vessel. He savoured the desperation that was rolling from Sam. It was…intoxicating.

"I didn't want to bother you with such trivial matters" Toni replied softly.

"Nothing is trivial when it comes to Sam" his tone was soft but the acid was clear, making Toni flinch. "Sam? Look at me, roomie" he imploded, balancing himself on the arm of the chair, his face a few inches from the Winchester's. Sam eased his eyes open obediently, his pupils enormous. "How about I fix you up? I think Vince has got just enough left in him for that" Lucifer offered, reaching out his hand and pressing it to Sam's forehead. The hunter grunted, squinting against the light that emanated from the angel's hand. It surged through his body as he felt the aches, the soreness dissipate.

Thomas watched, fascinated, as Sam's wounds disappeared. Yet that wasn't what was so impressive. He watched the hunter bulk out before his eyes, the hollows in his cheeks, the loss of definition in his arms swelling as the effects of his hunger strike vanished, leaving him completely healthy. Physically, at least.

"There," Lucifer murmured, his soft smile satisfied as he removed his hand. "No point jumping from one broken vessel to another."

Hatred filled Sam – he didn't want to be indebted to Lucifer. Healing him wasn't for Sam's benefit or even his own – it was a power play, the same as it had always been. Just another way that the Devil controlled him. A frown flickered across his brow as Lucifer swayed ever so slightly. Toni walked back, a large opaque plastic container in her hands.

"Here" she offered it to the arch angel, who smiled appreciatively, taking it from her. He brought it up to his lips, taking a long drink from it. Thomas noted the red stain coating the teeth that were visible through the hole in his cheek. He looked away, trying to shove down his disgust. Sam shifted uncomfortably before him.

His thirst finally quenched, Lucifer passed the half empty container back, wiping a dribble of red from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, licking it off.

"I hope you have more than that" he remarked.

Toni nodded. "I have an ample supply. Sam has requested to talk to you before we begin."

"Has he now?" Lucifer replied, his soothing tone unnerving. He dropped himself into the chair opposite his vessel, pulling it forward so that their knees were touching. Sam shifted, trying to edge away from the contact, but the shackles that rooted his ankles to the chair weren't letting him go anywhere. Lucifer waved a limp hand, dismissing Sam's captors, his gaze fixed on the hunter. Thomas hesitated, reluctant to move until Toni shot him a look. They walked away, leaving the pair alone.

Somehow, the panic within Sam eased minutely.

"I gotta say, Sam, there was a part of me that didn't think this would happen. Our last chat about us reuniting was…heated. What happened to all your bravado about your _faith_ ," the arch angel nearly spat the word even though his soft smile remained pinned in place, "and working everything out yourself? You were so… _determined._ "

"What faith?" Sam asked quietly, finally pulling his gaze up to meet Lucifer's. "My family is gone." That piqued his interest. Sam had no idea that his brother was alive. It seemed Toni had managed to keep that little gem from Sam this whole time. Now Toni's success made sense. Smart girl. Sam could take all the pain that anyone could throw at him if he knew Dean was fine. That had always been his most powerful tool against the hunter in the cage. She had cracked him just by withholding that simple truth. Lucifer gave the hunter a sympathetic smile, rubbing his knee with one hand. Sam flinched at the contact.

"That makes me sad, Sammy." The insincerity was as clear as day in his amused eyes.

"No. It doesn't."

"Sam, you know your wellbeing has always been important to me. I said I wanted you to be happy all those years ago," Lucifer rebuked, running a hand up the side of Sam's face, into his hair. He grinned as Sam tried to shy away. He was so much fun to play with. "Even after all the things we've been through since then, all the times you've hurt me, _betrayed_ me, you're still half of the whole. _MFEO_ " he whispered, enjoying the sound of Sam's heart trip when he repeated the phrase from long ago. He leaned in closer, his whisper mocking. "I forgive you Sam."

A lump had formed in Sam's throat. He had never hated himself as much as he did now. He thought of all the people that could – probably would – die because of Lucifer when he was inside of Sam and yet the only part of him that truly protested was tiny, hollow. It had no real conviction He had given everything and it just hadn't been enough.

No more.

"I need you to do something for me" he whispered, finally finding his voice.

"What's that?" Lucifer asked, leaning in further like they were trading secrets.

"Kill me." Sam's voice was quiet, pleading. Lucifer frowned; he'd half expected this.

"Sorry, kiddo, no can do. If I could've done that the first time I possessed you, I would have. It doesn't work that way."

Sam was silent for a moment. He'd assumed as much.

"Then I don't want to know anything. Nothing at all."

Lucifer cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I want you to take it all away. I don't want to know what you're doing – I don't want to see it, hear it, _nothing_. Ever." Sam murmured, voice cracking as the tears began to fall. "You can do whatever you want but I can't spend eternity feeling like this. I have nothing left. I want this pain to _stop."_

Lucifer was silent for a moment. Could this get any better?

"Hope is the cruellest of emotions, Sam; it always has been. It's that one feeling that has let you down over and over again." He stroked Sam's cheek, brushing a tear away with his thumb. He cupped Sam's face in both hands, drawing his eyes to him.

"I'm going to save you from that cruelty."

oOo

 **How did I do with Lucifer? I enjoyed writing him, but when you only have a little bit of source material to work with, it makes it a bit harder.**

 **Please review!**


	18. Say Goodbye

**Okay…we're finally here people. Climax time! I hope you enjoy it!**

 ***Deep breath***

oOo

 _"If the world fell into the sea,_

 _would you hold on and drown right here with me?"_

 _\- In Our Dreams, Black Stone Cherry_

oOo

 **Outskirts of London**

They were on the move. Finally. Their plan was as fool proof as it could be, going in blind. They had prepared for the two worst scenarios: Lucifer being there or Lucifer already possessing Sam. Dean couldn't think about the second one. He'd know. He didn't know how he knew that, but he was convinced that Sam was still alright. It was the thin shred of hope that he was clinging on to with both hands.

Markham sat upfront next to his driver, Castiel in the seat beside Dean. Harold had gone with the second Men of Letters team to the next closest location. Dean needed someone he trusted, even a small amount, out there on the hunt. All three teams had been given the same instructions and the same preparations. They had mobilised quickly and efficiently as soon as Jonathan had given the order. A second SUV trailed behind the one Dean was in as they roared down the road. Getting out of London had been a nightmare, the city gridlocked by its usual daytime traffic. None of it had helped Dean's nerve stabilise.

"Are you clear on what you need to do?" Markham asked, twisting in his seat to look at Dean and Cas. Dean nodded. Cas frowned.

"I would rather be by Dean's side, but yes."

"I know, Cas, but I need you to hang back for this to work," Dean replied, his voice low. He stared down at his hands. "If it goes wrong – if I don't make it out…"

Cas clasped his shoulder, his piercing blue eyes solemn but determined.

"I will do everything I can to get Sam out."

oOo

 **West Hyde, Colne Valley Regional Park**

"Do I have your word?" Sam asked quietly. Lucifer leaned back, crossing his arms as he studied Sam. He'd seen the hunter terrified, angry, defiant. This new Sam, the broken husk, was no fun. Hell, giving him what he wanted would make his life so much simpler. No incessant, irritating scratching at the walls, no yelling in the back of his mind. He'd been such a pest last time.

"Alright, Sam. When you say yes, I'll find you a quiet corner where you can retire. You won't remember what's happened. I won't interfere with you. I might even make it enjoyable for you – well, maybe that's a stretch. You don't want that apple pie life you dream of, not really. But I'll give you what you _need_ ," he replied, giving Sam's knee a final squeeze. He rose. "We'd best start getting ready then." His grin was wide as he beckoned Toni and Thomas back over. "You're finest, if you please, my dear." Toni walked over, Thomas carrying two new containers. Sam eyed them suspiciously until Lucifer's meaning caught on.

"No" he whimpered, squirming in the chair. Lucifer sighed.

"You know the drill, roomie; this'll make for a smoother transition for the both of us. It's a bit of a bumpy ride without it. Be a good boy and do what he tells you while I make some last-minute arrangements."

Sam shifted uneasily, yanking half-heartedly on his handcuffs as Lucifer limped away with Toni, their voices low as Thomas approached him. He set the two huge containers down, crouching down next to them, placing an empty plastic litre water bottle next to them. Sam watched, horrified, as he decanted the demon blood into the water bottle. He stood up, looking down at Sam, noting the way the hunter eyed the bottle as he screwed the sports cap back on.

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" he sighed.

"It's _blood._ How easy do you find drinking gallons of it?" Sam spat, glaring up at him balefully. He had been clean for so many years…at least he wouldn't have to deal with the after effects of it this time. That didn't make swallowing the damned stuff any better.

Thomas stared down at him, the two locked in a silent battle of wills, waiting for the other to make the first move. Thomas shot forward as Sam twisted his head to the side.

"No!" he groaned as Thomas' hand snaked around the side of his head, clamping it between his arm and his side, tilting his chin up and holding him still as he jammed the sports cap of the water bottle through his teeth. Sam squirmed, trying to wrench his head away but Thomas' grip was like iron. He moaned when the Man of Letters squeezed the bottle, the revolting metallic liquid pooling into his mouth. It was bad enough warm: cold it was sickening.

"I know it's unpleasant, but it'll be over soon" Thomas crooned, keeping his grip tight. The angle of his head forced it straight to the back of Sam's throat and he choked, trying desperately not to swallow. He couldn't help it though. It was like a dam; as soon as his throat opened, he couldn't stop it.

Lucifer twizzled one of the leaves that had charred in Toni's summoning ritual between his fingers. He stared at it, barely listening to the damned woman rabbit on, as he concentrated on making the woozy feeling within him pass. He was stronger than when he'd been ripped from Castiel, but he was nowhere near as strong as he should be – as he would be when he was inside his true vessel.

"Are you alright?" Toni asked, stopping mid-sentence, staring at the archangel, concern seeping into her tone. Lucifer's eyes snapped up to hers, flashing a cold red, fear jolting through Toni when she realised her mistake.

"Excuse me?" he breathed, the soft tone menacing. Toni shook her head frantically.

"F-forgive me. I wasn't thinking" she stammered, fighting the urge to take a step back. Lucifer studied her, his eyes narrowed.

"Clearly not." The threat was transparent but his eyes returned to normal. He glanced over at Thomas and Sam, amused by the small jerks and moans that resonated from the Winchester as Thomas forced another round on him. That was the Sam he knew and enjoyed.

He looked back at Toni, glad to see a flicker of nervousness slipping past her steely exterior. He didn't like her, not at all. Oh, she was useful, but while she emanated with respect, it bordered on arrogance; she thought she was invaluable. He didn't appreciate arrogance – not from humans. It wasn't their place.

It would be a lesson she was going to be quick to learn.

"My current vessel is nearly spent – once Sam's had his fill, I want this done quickly" he instructed. The weakness within him was unsettling; he knew he didn't have enough juice left to properly defend himself within Vince.

He needed his true vessel and quickly.

Thomas relaxed his hold on Sam as the hunter began to drink off his own accord. They were onto the third litre. Thomas wasn't sure where Sam was putting it all, although, honestly, he didn't want to know. He kept his hand tilting Sam's chin up, stroking his cheek almost tenderly with his thumb.

"Well done, Sam. A few more to go" he murmured, locking eyes with the Winchester. There was still that tiny speck of defiance in his eye that warred with an insatiable craving – he wanted the blood but he didn't. It was yet another battle he was losing with himself.

The bottle crackled as the remaining blood dribbled down Sam's throat. Thomas pulled it from his mouth, bending down to the containers again when an alarm went off in his pocket. He put the bottle down, scrabbling within his jacket pocket for the source of the noise as Toni stalked over. He pulled out his phone, unlocking it.

"What is it?" Toni demanded, looking down at the screen. Thomas paled, glancing at Sam before steering Toni away from him, the blood bottles forgotten. He pulled her towards the door, Lucifer following. Sam stared after them, his eyes narrowed. For the second time that day, something unexplained had forced their hand.

Outside, they kept their voices low, in case Sam could hear, their tones were urgent.

"The motion sensor placed at the beginning of the lane had been triggered, madam" Thomas explained, his fingers working quickly, swiping at several keys until a grainy black and white image appeared.

"And?" Lucifer scoffed.

"We picked this area as people rarely use these back roads" Toni explained as Thomas dragged the timeline back on the camera feed, two black SUVs racing backwards. He stopped it and let it resume.

"You have got to be kidding me" Toni hissed as she recognised the cars.

"Do we have a problem?" Lucifer asked softly, his words hard as a scowl deepened on his brow. Toni looked up, her jaw working, but no sound emanating. "Spit it out before I rip your damned tongue out!"

"We put CCTV and motion sensors at the entrance to this property – the first is ten minutes away at the start of the lane. Those cars belong to the Men of Letters."

"And?" Lucifer repeated. Toni paled.

"And Dean Winchester will be with them."

Sam strained his ears as much as he could but all he could fathom was a clear urgency in what was being said. If they were sneaking around outside, there was something interfering that they didn't want him to know about. What the hell? He fought the nausea that rolled in his gut as the demon blood sloshed around. He'd forgotten how unpleasant it was but he could feel his temper rising, the blood sparking what felt like some long-gone rebellion. Looking around, he tried to spot anything he could use to help him, huffing in annoyance when he saw nothing that was even close to being within range of his limiting bonds.

"How _exactly_ does that pustule know where we are?" Lucifer growled.

"I-I don't know. We can fix this; we have time. He's ready" Toni insisted hurriedly. Lucifer shot a look over his shoulder at Sam through the crack in the barn door. The hunter was watching them warily, clearly suspicious. The archangel ran a hand back through his hair, controlling the rage that was rippling from him before going back into the barn. Sam looked up as Lucifer prowled over to him, his gait slow, relaxed.

"It's time, Sam. Are you ready?" he asked, voice a soft crooning. Sam gaze up at him, heart thumping. Lucifer had agreed to his terms, had said he would make it all end. Yet, he instincts screamed at him. Louder than they had in months. Something had changed. Something was wrong. He couldn't do this. Could he?

Sam hesitated.

Lucifer saw the shift. It was minute, barely even a flicker in the back of Sam's eyes, but he saw it.

"Come on, Sam. We agree. Sweet oblivion for you and I'll be on my merry way. It's a limited offer; don't make me change my mind" he warned. Sam battled, the threat very real. Did he want to suffer for eternity on a strange gut instinct that he couldn't pinpoint? If he refused, Lucifer was going to make his life hell. Even more so than it already was. But something – someone – had spooked him and Toni.

"I'm waiting" Lucifer hissed, his words snaking out through clenched teeth.

Sam looked up at him, making his choice.

oOo

 **Outskirts of West Hyde, Colne Valley Regional Park**

"How much longer?" Dean huffed, peering at the GPS in the front of the car. He knew they had to be close; his heartrate was steadily rising, the way it always did before a fight. A lifetime of hunting had left him finely attuned to it. They were going to the right place – he would stake his name on it. The Men of Letters may have had the manpower and the knowledge, but a true hunter knew when to listen to his instincts. Right now, Dean's were screaming at him.

"Another few minutes. Patience Dean" Jonathan murmured. "We can't go charging in there when we arrive. We've got no evidence to suggest that we're at the right place." Dean snorted. He knew two things with absolutely no evidence.

His brother was there.

So was Lucifer.

oOo

"No." The word rang clear in the silence, plummeting Toni's stomach into the floor. Panic rose and she fought to control it. What the hell were they going to do? A loud crack echoed around the room as Lucifer backhanded Sam across the face, his pained gasp loud as blood spilled for the cut that opened on his lip.

The Devil stalked back towards her, his expression livid. Terrifying. He grabbed her around the throat, nearly lifting her off the ground.

"Does he know I'm here?" he snarled, his pungent, rotting breath blasting her in the face.

Toni shook her head quickly, scrabbling against his shrivelled hand. "They can't possibly know." Lucifer stared into her eyes as she watched him think, calculating the scenarios in his head. He could leave but he was loathe to do so. He did not run from the likes of Dean Winchester and, if he went now, there was no guarantee that Toni would still have Sam in her control. In fact, he was almost certain that she was incompetent enough to lose him. If that happened, his chances were over.

"We can deal with this – _I_ can – but I need a stronger meat sack until Sammy starts batting for the home team again" Lucifer growled, shooting his vessel a malicious glare. Sam shrank in his seat.

"Take me." The words fell out of her mouth before she'd realised she said them. He released her throat, caught off guard for once.

"Madam!" Thomas gaped, shaking his head. Toni glanced at him, silencing him with a look.

"It's alright, Thomas. I'm the perfect cover," she insisted, Lucifer fixing his gaze on her. "They don't know that you're here and they absolutely will not expect you to use me as a vessel. You can destroy the Men of Letters and use Dean to force Sam's hand."

A slow smile overtook the scowl on Lucifer's face.

"See that's what I like about you, Blondie. You're a quick thinker."

"Thomas will dispose of your current vessel and will assist you."

"Madam, may I have a word?" Thomas insisted, tugging gently on Toni's elbow. The pair walked away from Lucifer who simply rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I really must protest. Having him possess you is too dangerous. Let me do it."

Toni smiled up at Thomas, grasping his hand. "No, Thomas. I need you to pick up the aftermath of all of this. I'm sure I'll be fine – as soon as he's dealt with Markham and the rest, he'll jump to Sam. He won't be in me long enough to damage me. It'll be alright."

She caressed his cheek, stroking the soft stubble on his cheek with her thumb. He sighed, nodding obediently.

"Of course, madam. If you think it best" he whispered, cupping her hand with his.

Sam watched the three of them curiously, alarm beginning to seep in. They had kept their voices low, but the shift in their demeanours was enough for him to realise that they were up to something. He frowned when he saw Thomas gape, a hushed response coming from him. It was probably the first genuine look of concern that Sam had ever seen him display and it was directed straight at Toni. What the hell was she doing? He shifted, wary of the pleased look that passed over Lucifer's face. The three of them turned to look at him, expressions grim.

This was not good.

He watched Toni pick up one of the spare bottles of blood that she'd stored under the table, horrified when she made to drink it. What the hell?

"No." Lucifer's hand pushed the bottle back down.

"I thought you said it made the transition easier?" she remarked, brows knitted together in confusion. Lucifer plucked the bottle from her grasp, putting it back down on the floor.

"It does…for me and Sam but that's because he's special. If you tried drinking demon blood without being occupied…let's just say the side effects would be particularly unpleasant. No, I just need you to say yes," he explained, standing before her. His eyes flickered to Thomas and he waved his hand in Sam's direction. "Gag him. He's such a spoilsport. Let's not ruin the surprise for our dear _friend_ , Dean."

Thomas nodded, walking away.

The Winchester watched, fascinated, as Lucifer and Toni talked, barely even noticing that Thomas had walked away. Toni looked almost…fearful. The look dissolved, her face hardening into a shell of determination; the mask one that Sam was far too familiar with.

"I'm ready. Yes." He finally heard her, confusion written across his face as he stared. His eyes widened as Lucifer's vessel began to glow white hot, the light getting more and more intense. Sam averted his eyes, screwing them shut and tucking his head into his shoulder as the light filled every crevice of the barn.

oOo

The SUVs had parked up, nestled in amongst a copse of oak trees, out of sight of both the road and the barn ahead. Markham's men had edged up to the clearing, staying within the treeline to scope what was there. They hadn't see any signs of life, but the barn fitted the description he had given them.

They were grouped next to the SUV, discussing the final plans when light poured forth from the direction of the barn. Dean looked up, frowning. The glow was a stark contrast to the grey morning, casting weak shadows that crawled towards them before it died away into nothing.

"Shit," he breathed, turning eyes to Cas. The angel shared his look. "I think Lucifer just joined the party."

"It's alright. We've prepared for this; we expected it. Which is more than they expect from us. We have the advantage here" Jonathan replied as his men put the finishing touches to their preparations before concealing their blades. "I will stay here with Castiel. Dean, take Oliver, Matthew, Harry and Ryan as your back up. We'll wait for your signal."

Dean nodded once, hard. He flapped out the front of his shirt, wincing when the cool air hit his abdomen. He was glad he'd worn a dark shirt. His eyes slid to Cas who stared at him solemnly.

"Good luck."

oOo

The light dissipated, leaving a blanket of darkness behind Sam's clenched eyes. He cracked them open, lifting his head and blinking blearily. His hair whipped around as he looked towards Lucifer and Toni. Sam's eyes widened when he saw Toni standing over Lucifer's crumpled form. The Woman of Letters stretched her arms out in an arc over her head, twisting her neck, letting it pop. She turned in his direction, that same slow grin spreading on her face. Recognition jolted through him.

"What have you do-" Sam started to shout but was cut off when Thomas stuffed that damned cloth back in his open mouth. He thrashed his head, trying to dislodge him, chains jerking around the chair leg. Thomas cupped his hand tightly over Sam's mouth, holding his head back against his stomach, keeping the gag in place. Toni – Lucifer – sauntered over to him, grinning as Thomas grappled with the hunter, sliding the black bandana back over the lower half of his face, sealing in the cloth.

"It's been a while since I've been in a girl. Feels naughty" Lucifer winked at him, his words sounding strange in Toni's voice but the maliciousness was still there. Thomas yanked the two ends of the bandana into a tight knot, eliciting a moaning growl from Sam. The hunter jerked his head like a newly bitted colt when he let go. He glared venomously up at the archangel, his chest heaving as he yanked at his restraints. Lucifer grabbed his face, digging his fingers in painfully. "I do believe you're a bit too…energetic for the upcoming performance. You were given a front row seat. Such a shame you turned it down" he commented, tilting Sam's head to the side.

Sam grunted when he felt a sharp scratch on his neck, peering out of the corner of his eye as Lucifer held his head still. A cooling sensation spread from the scratch as he spied the needle Thomas had threatened him with earlier come into view from the crook in his neck. He groaned as a sluggishness overtook him, crawling through his veins like lead. Lucifer released his hold on his face, cuffing the Winchester upside the head for good measure.

"It won't knock him out fully I'm afraid; we brought this one just in case he needed to be more malleable" Thomas explained.

"Well I wouldn't want him to miss this" Lucifer grinned. Sam blinked hard, fighting the heaviness that settled over him, his vision starting to swim. His head dropped, hair falling over his face. "Go. Get rid of the body. I have a feeling the special guests are nearly here."

Special guests? What was he talking about? Sam tried desperately to focus his thoughts but the more he tried, the quicker they scattered.

"As you wish" Thomas nodded curtly, stepping backwards, away from Lucifer, without turning his back until he was a few metres away. Agitation filled him; seeing Toni move that way, speak in that voice…it was wrong. He hoped they knew what they were doing. His eyes flicked to Sam, anger overtaking him. If only the whelp had kept his word! None of them would be in this danger now.

The Man of Letters bent down, grappling with the corpse of Vince Vincente, desperately hoping that the rotting vessel wouldn't fall apart as he moved it. He'd forgotten how heavy corpses were. Hooking his hands under Vince's arms, he dragged the empty vessel across the floor and out towards the back door. He'd dump it in the woods and bury it later.

Once he knew Toni was safe.

oOo

Dean and the Men of Letters edged their way up the dirt track to the main door of the barn, weapons drawn. Guns weren't really any use against Lucifer, but Dean felt reassured grasping the solid metal between his hands. The desire to have the Colt back was a deep seated ache. It couldn't kill Lucifer but it had hurt him like hell. But there was no point dwelling on things he didn't have. Besides, that bitch definitely wasn't immune to gunfire and the thought of shooting her filled the hunter with an immense feeling of pleasure. He may have missed his chance to exact the vengeance he'd wanted to on James, but he was more than ready to gank her. She wasn't human. Not in his books.

He glanced at the men flanking him, grateful to have them with him, stoic as they were. They let him take the lead, their own weapons poised in their hands. Dean kept his senses on full alert as they got closer to the building. Nothing moved with the vicinity; the silence deadened the whole area. It was completely void of the sound of any living thing. Even the trees barely rustled.

They reached the door, Dean holding up his hand silently. The men stopped. He leaned in, listening.

Nothing.

He pressed his hand lightly to his opposite wrist, checking that his knife was still safely stowed in his sleeve. Glancing at the Men of Letters, the hunter nodded once. They returned the gesture. Placing one hand against the splintering wood, he eased the door open, a shaft of light spilling before him.

Raising his gun, Dean stepped in.

The interior of the barn was dark, long shadows reaching from the walls, spreading their tendrils across the floor. Dean squinted, letting his eyes adjust to the dark as he scanned the room. His lip curled into a snarl at the sight that emerged from the darkness.

Toni stood behind his brother, a malevolent grin on her face. She was as twisted as he'd imagined. Petite and blonde, she had the sweet look that cloaked the vile nature lurking below the surface. A quick glance across the room revealed no one else. Just her and his brother. Anger coursed hot like lava through his veins when he saw Sam properly. He was chained to a chair, hands behind his back, ankles secured to the wooden legs and a black bandana gagging him as his head lolled forwards, hair flopping across his eyes, his throat getting dangerously close to the knife that hovered just in front of him.

Dean's knuckles whitened against his gun as he raised it.

"Get away from my brother, bitch" he growled, green eyes locking onto her as he moved forward.

"Ah ah" Toni tutted, grabbing a fistful of Sam's hair and yanking his head up, exposing his throat. A soft moan broke Dean's heart, the whimpering sound nearly enough to make him shoot her there and then. He frowned, looking at his brother's face. He looked fine, healthy even, but his eyes wandered slowly, unable to focus on anything.

"Can't control him without druggin' him? Low blow" Dean sneered, readjusting his grip. Toni smiled patronisingly at him.

"Oh you know your brother, Dean; he's never been very good at cooperating."

Dean?

The name pierced through the fog in Sam's brain. He slid his eyes towards the block of light coming in through the door, seeing the outlines of three – four? – figures. Why were they talking about Dean? Blinking heavily, he tried to focus, tried to see their faces but couldn't. He squirmed weakly under Lucifer's grip, stilling when the knife nicked his skin.

"I'm gonna give you five seconds to move away from my brother before I start shootin'" Dean snarled.

"Oh Dean, do it again. It's so… _amusing_ when you're trying to be assertive" Toni laughed, flashing perfect white teeth. The men on either side of Dean shifted uneasily. He frowned. She had no idea what he was like.

"Four."

"I'm positively quaking."

"Three."

"Boys, do you believe him? Does he sound convincing to you? I'm not sure I'm getting the _real_ Dean Winchester experience" Toni smirked, waving the blade in the direction of the Men of Letters.

Dean fired.

The bullet smacked straight into Toni's forehead; a perfect headshot. Her head snapped backwards, satisfaction, relief, pouring through Dean.

It faded almost instantly when she didn't drop. Her head snapped forward again, a mock frown knitting her brows together.

"Now, Dean; who taught you to count?" she chided, her grin twisting into something truly grotesque as she rubbed at the bloodless hole in her forehead. "You seem to be a bit rusty on the numbers. Here, let me help." Dean's stomach plummeted.

Lucifer.

"Two" Lucifer called, his hand shooting out, snapping towards Oliver, the man on Dean's left. He was pitched through the air before he even had time to yell in surprise, flying backwards and slamming through the wall of the barn, fracturing the wood.

"One." Matthew's head twisted, neck snapping as he dropped to the floor. Dean and Ryan stared, horrified. Lucifer grinned. "See? Not that difficult, is it?"

oOo

Thomas stopped, eyes widening in shock as he saw a man fly through the wall of the barn. It had started. Toni was in danger. He ran down to the side of the barn from the edge of the trees, halting at the back door. He crouched down, peering inside. He would wait. Watch. If Toni – Lucifer – needed him, he'd be there.

oOo

"What? Couldn't convince a guy to let you in this time?" he goaded, lowering his gun and raising his impassive mask. He couldn't let the archangel rattle him.

"That's just rude. Lady Bevell here has been most accommodating. You know me – I need something a bit more entertaining before the main course. Now," Lucifer's grin dissolved, his playful tone turning serious, "put those down before you start getting on my nerves. You know they don't work and I _really_ don't think you want to get on my bad side this early on in the game." He trailed the tip of the knife down Sam's cheek along the line of the cloth. His message was clear.

Dean threw the gun on the ground, listening as the remaining two Men of Letters did the same. It was fine. They were fine. They'd prepared for this. He just needed him to move away from Sam.

"Obedience looks good on you Dean" Lucifer sneered.

"So what now? You're not gonna hurt Sam. You need him" he growled, crossing his arms. The knife slid forward in his palm.

"Well true. But I can heal him again. You should be thanking me by the way; dear baby brother was a bit of a mess when I got here. Toni?" Lucifer clicked his tongue, wincing dramatically. "Bit of a flare for torture that one. Even I was impressed."

The knife dug into Dean's palm, his lip quivering with rage.

"If you touch…"

"Oh spare me your dramatics," Lucifer huffed, rolling his eyes. "If I wanted you dead, do you know how easy it would be? Stop testing my patience." The two remaining Men of Letters shifted uneasily, fear and uncertainty flickering across both of their faces. Dean prayed they kept their cool. Lucifer turned his attention away from them, looking down at his captive, patting him lightly on the cheek. "Sam? Buddy? C'mon, focus for me" he crooned.

Sam had barely been able to follow the conversation, his concentration ebbing and flowing. Lucifer grabbed him under the chin, forcing his head up and making him look towards the figures in the door way.

"You need to come a bit closer. I don't think he can see you" Lucifer laughed. He felt something tickle his eyelashes, his gaze widening when he saw a blade hovering millimetres away. He went perfectly still.

"Alright, alright." He heard a voice say. It was so familiar…why? The knife moved away and Sam blinked, trying to bring the world back into focus. He squinted as the figure came closer, looming up before him. Broad shoulders blocked the sunlight from behind, leaving a faint glow of light around his body. Short hair – what colour was it? – was stood up in tufts as though the man hadn't slept in days. His legs were bowed, his walk slow and easy. Sam's heart began to pound despite the chemical subduing him.

"That's close enough" Lucifer ordered, the man stopping a couple of metres away as the archangel tilted Sam's heard up a bit further. Sam blinked furiously, frustrated by the fuzziness in his vision.

Finally, the fog lifted.

A muffled sound that Dean recognised as his own name escaped from behind the gag in his brother's mouth, recognition finally flared within his grey eyes. Sam jerked, wrenching feebly against Lucifer's hold, fighting with everything he had but his body was sluggish and unresponsive, allowing the archangel to subdue his movements easily.

"It's alright, Sammy. I'm here" Dean choked out, his heart breaking as he listened to the tiny whimpers that came from his baby brother.

"Awww. Who doesn't love a big Winchester reunion? Hug it out?" Lucifer mocked, grinning as furious emerald eyes locked onto him. Lucifer brought his head down to Sam's level, his knife lowering to Sam's side as he leaned on the arm of the chair. Toni's grey eyes gleamed up at Dean's, loose blonde strands of hair tickled the side of Sam's face. "Listen up, Sammy. This is your last chance to play ball." Lucifer's voice was soft, persuasive. Sam's eyes fixed desperately on Dean, silently pleading as he listened to the Devil murmur in his ear. "Either you invite me in or I'm going to take Dean apart right in front of you. Piece. By. Piece. I think I might start with those dashing green eyes of his; what do you think?" Sam's eyes widened, a strangled moan escaping his throat. "And you're going to watch all of it, just like we used to play back in the Cage." Lucifer continued, drinking in the look of horror on Dean's face as his breath ruffled the hairs by Sam's ear. "Then I'm going to bring him back, alive, and do it all over again. I'll start somewhere new – got to keep it entertaining. I'm going to keep doing it, over and _over_ again, until you say yes. I promise you, Dean has never known agony like it. His hell tour? Disneyland. Purgatory? A pleasant garden stroll. So, how about it, bunk buddy? About time you made your choice, don't you think?"

Bile rose in Dean's throat, absolute revulsion filling him as he saw the abject terror in Sam's drug-hazed eyes, the knife he was grasping digging deep into his palm. Lucifer reared up, moving his hands away from Sam, resting them on the back of the chair, victory written across his face.

Now or never.

"Do it!" Dean roared, wrenching up his shirt. He slammed his open bloodied palm into his abdomen, the large Enochian sigil that had been carved into his skin flaring bright. Behind him, Harry and Ryan did the same, identical bloodied sigils flashing like red embers on their skin. Dean watched as a look of horror sparked across Lucifer's face before a blinding light exploded, sucking in towards the Devil, pulling him into the vortex with a loud crash. He vanished from sight. Silence fell.

He was gone. They'd done it.

The knife clattered to the floor as Dean lurched forward, crouching down next to his brother.

"It's alright, Sammy; I got you" he whispered, fingers fumbling with the knot in the black bandana. He glanced at the two Men of Letters. "Keys!" he barked, mobilising them. One of them, Ryan, headed for the table, snatching up a set in one hand and hurrying over to Sam. Dean yanked the cloth off, pulling out the wadded cloth from inside his mouth as Ryan made quick work of the handcuffs.

"Dean" Sam whimpered, relief, joy, grief, surging through him, overwhelming him as his brother cradled his face in both hands. The handcuffs and ankle restraints disappeared and his arms fell forwards, pawing at Dean's shirt.

"I got you. It's alright Sammy, I'm here" Dean whispered, pulling his brother to him, off the chair and onto the floor where they sat, Dean cradling his head against his chest. Sam's arms circled around him, latching onto him as though he was his final lifeline. He clung to that embrace as he breathed in the familiar, homely scent of his brother; something he thought he would never experience again. So many months of agony, torture, longing and sheer heartbreak. This was a whole new pain. A welcome one. His brother was solid. He was there. His brother was really, truly there.

The dam burst.

Dean held his brother, one arm around his shoulders, the other stroking his hair as he rested his chin on the top of his head, rocking him gently, feeling his own hot tears slip down his face as his brother sobbed into his chest. He clenched his eyes shut, relief finally washing through him. So many months of heartache, of fear and doubt and longing evaporated as they sat there. He was there. He was really, truly there. His voice was barely a whisper as he repeated his words over and over again.

"I'm here, Sammy. I got you."

oOo

 **I hope that gave everyone the Sam and Dean hug we missed out on in 12X02! Don't worry – it's not quite the end; there's still some clearing up to do!**

 **Please review and make me a happy, happy writer!**


	19. Numb

**Here we are…final chapter. I do hate endings! :(**

oOo

"I do not wanna die inside just to breathe in." – Cut, Plumb

oOo

 **Men of Letters Aircraft, North Atlantic Ocean**

He sat close, so close that he could feel the heat radiating from his brother. Dean looked down at the sleeping form, studying the new lines and worries that had etched themselves in, unbidden, into Sam's gentle face. The cool glow of the plane's night lights cloaked them gently, Dean the only passenger, who was capable of sleeping, awake. He had ignored his own panic, his own discomfort, vowing to stay awake. Just in case.

His brother might need him. More than that, _he_ needed to know Sam was fine.

They were sat in chairs next to each other, Sam's fully reclined and stretched out so that he could sleep. Dean's was still upright but he'd lifted the armrest, taking away the barrier it created. Sam lay curled on his side beneath the blanket Dean had draped over him, facing his brother. A frown creased the sleeping Winchester's brow, his breathing beginning to rise. Dean reached out a hand, stroking his brother's arm softly.

"It's alright, Sammy" he whispered, his voice gentle, soothing. He continued to make small circular motions with his palm, watching as Sam slowly relaxed, his brow unknitting. It had been less than 24 hours since they'd found him, but he hadn't wanted to hang around, despite Jonathan's – and Dean's – reservations.

oOo

 ** _Westminster, London_**

 _"Do you really think flying back so soon is wise? You are more than welcome to stay as long as you need to" Jonathan said, his frown concerned. The more time he spent with the Winchester, the more the hunters amazed him. They were nothing like the men Toni had painted the picture of over the years._

 _Markham had stormed up the hill in Castiel's wake as soon as Ryan had raced down to them. They arrived to find the brothers wrapped in each other's arms as though they were clinging to life itself. Maybe, for them, they were._

 _"Sam" Cas gasped, surging forward. Both Winchesters turned their heads at the angel's call, Sam's head remaining pressed to Dean's chest. He wasn't letting go, not yet. He couldn't. The angel dropped to his knees beside them, hesitating. Sam's arm reached out, pulling him into their embrace, the three of them sharing in their moment of relief. Seeing that small family – there was no other word for it – together brought forth a turmoil within the head of the Men of Letters unlike anything he'd ever known. They'd rescued Sam, thank god, but the guilt was overwhelming. They should never have had to rescue him in the first place. Jonathan should never have let it get this far._

 _Things would change._

 _He had already dispatched his men to find Toni and her house staff, all of whom had disappeared. He had no idea how involved they were, but they would need questioning once found._

 _Now he stood in the Men of Letters' headquarters with the Winchesters and Castiel, more specifically one of the small side offices. They had tried to go directly to the medical room, but as soon as Sam had seen the sterile, clean surfaces, he'd frozen solid, almost choking on his own fear. Castiel had slammed the door shut as Dean tried to calm him, to reassure him._

 _They occupied a small, homely office where Sam sat on a plump sofa. Castiel stood near the window but Dean hovered behind his brother. The Men of Letters' doctor had given him a quick check up – as much as he could bear – before announcing him, physically, healthy. Dean looked down at his brother, his hand on the chair behind him. He wasn't going to leave Sam's side any time soon._

 _"That would be great. Thanks" Dean replied._

 _"No" Sam whispered, turning panicked eyes up to his brother._

 _"We can help you, Sam. We want to help" Jonathan tried to reassure him. Sam shook his head fervently, his breathing rising._

 _"Could you give us a minute?" Dean asked. Jonathan nodded, heading towards the door, leaving the Winchesters and Cas alone. Dean slid down into the sofa beside Sam, their knees touching. "Breathe Sammy, c'mon." He held Sam's gaze, anchoring him, as his voice soothed him. Slowly his breathing returned to normal, his pupils contracting again. Dean gave him a small smile._

 _"Dean, please. We need to go" Sam implored, his eyes pleading. Dean sighed._

 _"I'm sorry, Sammy but I really think we should stay. I know the doc says you're fine, but you're not. I know you're not. Travelling halfway across the world in a confined space ain't gonna help" he countered._

 _"It's not safe. I know they say it is, but it's not. The longer we're here, the worse it is. I_ have _to go home. Please." He whispered, dropping his eyes. "We need to prepare."_

 _Dean frowned, confused. "Prepare for what, Sammy?"_

 _His brother kept his eyes averted, but…what was that? Shame?...rolled off him in waves._

 _"I need to detox. It'll start soon."_

oOo

 **Men of Letters Aircraft, North Atlantic Ocean**

Dean's fist clenched, driving his nails into his palm at the memory. It was their final act of cruelty. Hadn't his brother suffered enough? When was their suffering _ever going to be enough?_ Silently, Dean cursed Chuck. Damned him. They'd given him _everything_ he wanted and this was what they got in return. Four months of torture and a long stretch of demon blood detox to just rub salt in the wound. It wasn't fair; it never had been.

The shame Dean had seen in Sam's eyes had shattered him all over again. Like it was somehow his fault. Dean remembered that look too well. Hadn't missed it and hadn't wanted to see it ever again. It didn't matter that he would tell Sam, with absolute conviction every time, that it wasn't his fault. Sammy would never listen and Dean hated himself for it.

There was only one person he hated more right now.

He swore that when he caught up with that bitch, possessed or not, she would pay for what she'd done.

Dean did not forgive.

oOo

 **St Catherine's Hill, Winchester, England**

The roar of motorway traffic snarled through the quiet country air, enveloping the giant hilltop that loomed over the city. No walkers trudged up its 100 wide slatted steps despite the lack of rain. Those who strolled along the footpath at the base of the hill chose to avoid the climb today, a strange uneasiness that they couldn't explain filling them. The few scattered sheep had quickly tramped down the sides, bleating in alarm.

Inside the small copse that crowned the hill, Lucifer prowled, seething. A deep white scar cut into the flesh of the ground, revealing its soft chalk foundations. The trees that had stood in Lucifer's path had splintered and fallen, clumsily collapsing into their neighbours which groaned under the sudden weight.

He had been SO CLOSE!

Why did that damned Winchester always get in his way? First his revolting little scene back in Stull Cemetery – the thought of the emotions that had overtaken Sam still made him nauseous – then that stunt with the sigil. He should've known the little maggot would pull a trick like that, but he'd underestimated him; Dean wasn't supposed to be smart. And now he was stuck in yet another meat sack because of _her_ incompetence.

The wretched little parasite in him was hollering and scratching, begging. This was all her fault. If she'd prepared properly, done everything she'd claimed, he'd be swanning around in his true vessel. If there was one thing the archangel truly hated, it was disappointment.

Toni was his biggest offender.

Even worse, she was already rotting. She was weak. He couldn't use her. Her internal screams to the contrary were only mildly satisfying.

"If only you'd done all you'd sworn to do," he sighed deeply. "You should know: I have a special…arena in the Pit which I save for those who upset me. I'm sure you're going to fit right in." His grin was vicious, curving to a disgusted sneer at the sound of his words in her ridiculous, weedy voice. Time to find himself another rockstar; now _that_ was enjoyable.

Lucifer stretched himself, pulling away from the mental links within Toni's mind, tilting her head back as he began to glow. Scorching hot, he flared brighter, hotter than he needed to, listening in satisfaction to her screams of agony as he shoved her consciousness forward, letting her experience the full preparation of his departure. Mouth open wide in a silent scream, Toni glowed, Lucifer's essence blazing through her. In a jet of light that flashed across the copse, lighting up the city of Winchester, he shot from her violently and disappeared into the sky. Her body crumpled onto the ground like a ragdoll, burnt out eyes staring lifelessly up at the grey clouds, plumes of smoke seeping up from her mangled corpse.

oOo

 **Men of Letters Aircraft, North Atlantic Ocean**

The tremors were already beginning to tingle in the edges of Sam's awareness. He woke, too warm, too cramped, ripping the blanket off and bolting upright. He needed to get out, needed to breathe. He couldn't breathe.

Almost falling off the plane seat, the hunter lurched to his feet, swaying, holding his hands out to try and steady himself.

"Sam?"

His eyes wandered aimlessly, ignoring the voice. He needed to breathe; he needed air. Staggering across the plane, he gripped the unoccupied seats, heading for the doors, not hearing the voices that were calling his name. The plastic was smooth and cold under his fingertips as he ran them along the side of the plane. He squinted, seeing the door come into focus. If he could just let some air in…

A hand gripped his upper arm, jolting panic through him like a current. Sam whirled, fist flying and connecting with his assailant's nose.

Cas stumbled back, hand cupping his nose which spouted blood. Dean leapt past him.

"Sammy, no!" he shouted as Sam grasped the levers on the door. He squeezed himself in between Sam and the door, trying to push his hands away with his body but Sam's grip remained tight around the lever. Dean reached up and grasped his brother's face, trying to get him to focus. "Hey, buddy, c'mon. Look at me, Sammy. Sam!" he barked, green eyes wide, urgent, as he tried to lock onto his brother's feverish gaze. Sam's roving stare centred on him fleetingly, a small frown crinkling his forehead. Dean noted the way his hair was plastered to his neck, the skin beneath his palms unnaturally warm. It was starting already. Dean cursed mentally as he called to his brother again.

"Dean's dead" Sam mumbled, pulling at the hands cupping his face.

"No, Sammy, I'm not. But if you open that door, we all will be" Dean replied, his voice almost pleading. Sam looked at him, confused. One of the Men of Letters appeared behind him.

"Maybe we should restrain him" he said, concern evident on his face. The whole of the cabin had gone silent. Sam flinched at the new voice, at the words, a small tremble quivering beneath Dean's hands. Dean scowled at the speaker, letting go of Sam and stepping between him and his brother, eyes livid.

"You try it and I will break your fucking arm. Nobody touches my brother" he snarled, his heart aching when he felt Sam's fist ball in the back of his shirt.

"If he's a danger, we need to act accordingly" the man insisted. Clearly, Jonathan had been rather sparing with the details of their situation. Castiel stepped forward, bloody nose fixed, coming between the men.

"Believe me when I say that he is the least of your troubles" the angel growled, blue eyes smouldering. The man backed off, holding his hands up submissively. Dean watched him back down, jumping slightly when he felt Sam's forehead drop onto his shoulder.

"I don't feel good" he whispered, still clinging to his brother's shirt, a move he hadn't pulled since he was a kid. Dean breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of Sam's voice. The panic had pulled him back from his fever-induced stupor, just.

"I know you don't. C'mon" Dean soothed, turning and tugging him back towards their seats. He pulled back the blanket, encouraging Sam to lie back down. The hunter did so without complaint, his body trembling minutely as Dean tucked the blanket back over him. The tension dissipated from the cabin, the crew visibly relieved. Dean caught the eye of one of the girls. "Could you get me some water and towels?" he asked, giving her a small smile. She nodded and walked off as he looked back down at his brother. Sam was staring up at him, a mixture of disbelief and anticipation on his face.

"How long, Dean?" Sam asked quietly.

"Another couple of hours, I reckon."

"How you doing? Which Metallica album are you on?"

Dean chuckled softly as the stewardess reappeared, placing the bowl on the table in front of Dean, giving him the towels directly.

"St. Anger."

"You hate that one."

"Desperate times, Sammy," Dean smiled as he wrung out one of the towels and dabbed it across his brother's forehead, cooling him. "Trust you to ask when you're the one about to go through it all." Sam's smile was soft, sad.

"Gives me something else to think about."

"Do you want Cas to help you sleep?" Dean asked softly as he patted at Sam's heated skin. Sam gave a small desperate shake of his head.

"No. _I_ need to control this. I'm so sick of being weak."

"It's alright," Dean soothed, keeping his movements gentle and fluid, relaxed. "You're not weak. No one is gonna make you do anythin' you don't want to, Sam. You call the shots. I promise."

They fell into a gentle silence, the only sound permeating the air was the dribbling of the towel whenever Dean wrung it out again. Sam bit his lip, fighting the rise in his heartrate at the sound.

Slowly, he began to relax as the tremors stopped, his temperature cooling. He gazed up at his brother, focusing on all the little details that made him Dean. His eyes had darkened to a forest green, exhaustion tugging at their edges, but their core held a soft concern that only Sam ever got to truly see. Light stubble was creeping up his cheeks and across his neck, giving him a rugged look that hid some of the worry in his downturned mouth. Sam took in all the small details. He had to believe Dean was real – that he was there. That Lucifer hadn't done as he'd said.

 _That_ he _hadn't said yes._

He couldn't…couldn't think about it. Not yet.

"Dean?" he mumbled, voice thickening with impending sleep.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really glad you came" he whispered.

"'Course I did," Dean murmured, his smile sad as he looked down as his brave, broken little brother. "You always come first. You know that. It's my job to look out for you."

Dean's words wrapped him in warmth as he succumbed to the blackness that called to him, barely registering the red that flashed through his forest green eyes.

He was safe.

He had his brother back.

oOo

 **Sooooooooo…do you want that to be the ending? I have a vague plan for a follow-up (not formed in my head enough to be considered a sequel yet) that would deal with the aftermath. If it's something you'd like to read, please let me know!**

 **Thank you so much, again, for going on this little adventure with me and the boys. Please review!**


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